Dusk Brawler
by Bardothren
Summary: As Samuel Milone battles in illegal Pokémon brawling rings with a three month deadline to fund his college education, conspiracies in his shadow pull him deeper into the world of crime and power. The fourth novel in the Sinex Saga.
1. Chapters 1-2

Hello to all of you that are reading this. This is a fourth installment to a series I've been writing for years. If you're new, I recommend you start with the second story (Through the Aura), because, in my opinion, the first one is inferior in quality to my later writing, and you don't need to read it to follow the plot of that story. Or better yet, go read Masks Within Masks if you haven't already. That's a work I'm writing currently, and I think it's better quality than this, which I finished about a year ago. I haven't posted it until now because I'm super lazy with stuff like that, but whatevs. Enjoy, and feel free to leave reviews. I'd definitely add some polish if someone makes a good suggestion.

Also, if you've gotten this far and somehow haven't noticed, Shakespeare and I share something in common: characters die off like fruit flies. There will also be descriptions of blood, mild body horror, and a bit of light romance, so you've been warned. That M's there for a reason.

Without further ado, enjoy!

* * *

Dusk Brawler

Part Four of the Sinex Saga

By Bardothren

* * *

Chapter One: Too Swift

Bass chords bounced off the padded walls of an enormous basement. The floor had a circular arena of bare concrete in the center, rimmed with cheap, dirty carpet. Long tables heaped with snack food and bottles of soda flanked the arena, and man-high speakers hung in the corners. The basement had no windows, and the only way out was through a heavy padded door with a thick bolt lock that could be moved from either side of the door.

The basement was crammed with rowdy teenagers, wearing torn clothes, open shirts, and bearing red cups filled with soda as they wrapped arms over shoulders and watched the pokemon brawl. The two trainers stood at opposite ends of the circle, shouting orders at their rattata and zubat as the pokemon scratched and bit one another.

The music throbbing from the speakers shook Samuel Milone's bones, but it couldn't shake his concentration as he watched the clash between a zubat and a rattata. The zubat had an aerial advantage and used its supersonic frequencies to irritate its opponent, but Sam could tell it was tiring rapidly. Its wings trembled, its ears drooped, and its attacks grew sluggish. The rattata, on the other hand, became numbed to the supersonic and held its ground, waiting for the zubat to drop within its grasp. And once it did, the rattata's trainer ordered it to pounce, and the rattata clamped the zubat between its jaws. With one swift bite, the zubat fell limp.

The announcer threw a dirty white towel into the ring, and the two trainers withdrew their pokemon. "Charlie's zubat is unable to battle. Tyler wins the match!"

Through all of it, Samuel Milone had a journal out, and he scribbled notes and diagrams into it. From the zubat's upward momentum to the rattata's preference for its right front leg, Sam noted every quirk of the two pokemon and strategies to exploit them, scribbling sentences into his journal.

His eevee also watched the match. Sam smiled and stroked the fur atop her head after he finished writing. Her tail twitched, and she clawed at the floor.

"Not yet, Luna," Sam told his eevee. "We haven't gotten our matchup yet."

When two more trainers stepped into the ring, Jaunty Joe Rizoni offered Sam a plate and sat down next to him. He wore a gaudy gold jacket and a thick set of knuckledusters. His dirty-blonde hair was slicked back with enough gel to make it glitter, and he wore a thick set of Oakleys. His jeans were sanded down at the knees so his pale kneecaps poked through, and his thick, rubbery shoes squeaked with each step. His belt had a thick strap of pokeballs, each one with names painted on in gold print.

Sam looked at the plate, piled high with cheese, crackers, and sausage, and turned it down. Joe shrugged and picked out the sausage, mashing four thick slices between his yellowed teeth. "You're up next, Sam," he said. "Tyler's using three pokemon. A few people bet on him, but nothing much is on the line. You'll get the usual commission."

The next battle went very quickly – the poochyena stumbled, and the nincada finished it with an x-scissor to the neck. Samuel noted the speed of the insect's lunge before standing up, stretching his arms over his head and smoothing out his plain black t-shirt.

"Right. Let's get started." Sam walked towards the ring, and Luna followed behind him. Luna sprinted into the center of the ring and crouched, ready to pounce.

Jaunty Joe walked up to the ring and shouted over the music, "Last chance to place your bets! Payout's ten percent for Sam, eighty for Tyler! Anyone feeling lucky tonight?"

No one came forward. Joe glanced around the room before raising a fist in the air and shouting, "Alright! Let's get the main event started!"

Tyler, a kid with crew-cut hair and ragged jeans, sauntered to the other side of the ring. He tossed a pokeball into the ring, calling out a rattata of his own.

"Alright rattata, speed up!"

The rattata ran circles around Luna, moving faster and faster until it became a blurry purple circle. Luna stood still, staring forward and waiting for orders. Sam waited for the rattata to reach its maximum velocity before giving a command.

"Use swift!"

Luna flung a torrent of stars forward, and they flew into the circle, slamming into the rattata with its own momentum. A star made the rattata tumble forward, and Sam ordered Luna to lunge at the opening. With a mighty smack, Luna sent the rattata flying across the ring, knocking it unconscious.

The announcer made the call and asked Tyler to send his next pokemon. Out came a spinarak, scrunching its abdomen into a baleful scowl.

"String shot!"

Sam called for a swift, and Luna's stars hissed and sparked as they burnt up the string. The spinarak answered with a poison sting that Luna leapt over. While she was in the air, Tyler ordered his spinarak to lay webbing on the floor. The spinarak spat out a thick, gooey coating, and Luna landed right in the middle of it.

"Alright, now tackle!" Tyler shouted.

"Sand attack!"

Luna kicked up webbing from the floor, spattering it across the spinarak's eyes. It reared up and wriggled its legs in vain attempt to clear its vision.

"Pull yourself free with quick attack!"

Luna moved far slower with her feet sticking to the floor, but with a gooey _twang_ , it snapped free of the web and slammed into the spinarak. It rolled halfway across the ring and landed on its back. It scrunched and wiggled, but it couldn't roll back over. With another quick attack, the spinarak fell still. Luna ran in a circle and pushed her hind legs up, moving into a short handstand before rolling forward.

"Come on Tyler, this is too easy," Sam called. "Luna needs more of a challenge than that."

Tyler called out his final pokemon, a machop. It emerged from the pokeball with a somersault, coming up with its hands poised to strike. The crowd clapped, but no one cheered.

"Machop, karate chop!"

"Dodge left!" Sam shouted. Luna moved, but her feet stuck to the floor a second too long, and the machop's strike slammed into her front leg. She hobbled back, her paw raised into the air. The crowd leaned in closer, and a few people started cheering Tyler on.

"Do it again machop!"

Sam surveyed the field and saw a path through the webbing, leading to a dead end. "Three steps back, then jump right!"

Luna danced back, and the machop's attack swiped her ears to the side. Then she sprung right, wincing when she landed on her paw. Tyler grinned when he saw Luna trapped by the webs.

"Okay machop, finish it with low kick!"

Sam waited for the machop to shift all its weight to its left leg. Then he shouted, "Roll forward and right!"

Luna tucked in her head and barreled into the machop's load-bearing leg. The machop, off balance from starting the kick, teetered forward and fell face-first into the sticky floor. It tried pulling itself up, but the more it struggled, the more ensnared it became. Luna gave the machop a wide smile and crouched low to pounce.

Sam turned to Jaunty Joe and said, "Shouldn't we call the match? That machop's never getting out." Luna looked up at him, and she sat down, turning her head away in a mild tantrum.

"Don't you dare call it!" Tyler shouted. "I can still win! Machop, get up now!"

"Well, the machop's still moving," Joe said, "so it can still fight. You might as well finish it."

Sam clenched his hands. "Fine. Luna, swift."

Luna yelped and flung a barrage of stars into the machop's back. With Sam's hand signal, she stopped. The machop gritted its teeth and tried to rise.

"Are you sure you want to keep fighting?" Sam asked.

"My machop's tough!" Tyler said. "It'll get up, just watch!"

"Fine. Keep going Luna."

Another volley of stars pounded the machop. This time, when the barrage ended, the machop didn't try to stand. It reached towards the edge of the ring and tried to crawl through the sticky web.

"Your machop doesn't want to fight anymore. Just give it up."

"No! It's not over until it's over! I'm not giving up no matter what!"

Sam lowered his head. Then he ordered another swift attack. This time, the volley continued for a whole minute. The crowd watched, open mouthed, at the fireworks display in front of them, and when it ended, they cheered. Luna strutted around the ring and purred under the attention

The machop didn't move. Bruises mottled its backside, and blood gushed out of its nose. Tyler swore at it as he called it back. The crowd moved towards Sam, clapping him on the back, offering him sodas, saying they always thought he'd win. Sam took a can of root beer and chugged it down, wiping away the sweet, brown trickle that dripped down his chin. Then Jaunty Joe pushed his way through, flanked by two beefy thugs from the football team.

"Nice one," Joe said. He held out an envelope, and Sam took it. "Haven't seen you on the ropes like that for a while. How about bumping it up to four next time?"

"Four?" Sam asked, loud enough for the crowd to hear. He held out his arms and spun around, glancing at every member of the crowd. "Just four? Let's make it five."

After all the winnings were collected, Jaunty Joe scheduled the next fight. He tried to get Sam in two weeks later, but Sam's exam made him bump it back to three. Sam walked towards home, striding beneath the harsh glow of the street lamps with large, even steps. He stopped at a pharmacy he hadn't been to before and paid for a potion with the cleanest bills he had won that night. Then he snuck into an alley, leaned up against a building, and sprayed the potion on Luna's leg.

"That was fun, right?" he asked. Luna gave him a nod and flexed her healed leg.

"Good. Hopefully the next fight will be more of a challenge." Then he looked at his watch and said, "Oh crap! I gotta get home!"

He called back Luna, tucked his envelope into his shirt, and sprinted down the streets. The city gradually transformed from old, grimy shops to a cleaner, more cultivated neighborhood of houses pressed together, separated by a tasteful ring of manicured lawn. Sam hopped over the gold, wooden gate in front of his house and dashed through the door.

"Oh, you're back late!" his mother said. She was putting dishes drenched in curry sauce into the dishwasher. "How was the party?"

"Great! There'll be another one in three weeks. It'll be a nice way to celebrate finishing the exam."

"Wow, they sure like to party, don't they?" Sam's mother gave him a kiss on the forehead and said, "Be sure to wash up before bed, and don't stay up too late studying!"

"Okay mom!" Sam bound up the staircase, three stairs at a time, and swung his bedroom door open. Two windows split the room in two – on the left, curtains shut out the light outside, covering his bed with shadows. On the right, his desk had research papers and pokemon texts piled halfway to the ceiling, a cracked coffee mug crammed with pencils, a ream of blank notebook paper jutting from a desk drawer, and a sculpted clay mask, just large enough to reach past Sam's nose, painted with striking black and green lines. The window above his desk had the curtains thrown open, and the light from outside poured in. Two potted plants flanked his doorway, filling the room with the scent of moist earth.

Sam sat down, cracked open a text, and didn't stop reading until his eyes started to droop. Then he took out a penlight from his desk drawer, closed up the curtains, and slid under the bed. Beneath a loose floorboard, he had an old shoebox. The surface only held a few nostalgic childhood artifacts, but beneath a false cardboard bottom sat thousands of dollars, crammed together tight enough to concentrate their faint monetary odor. Sam crammed in his recent earnings, carefully slid the false bottom back into place, and crawled into bed. He called out Luna, cradled her in his arms, and drifted off to sleep.

Chapter Two: Setting the Stage

Inside Room 305, a third-story classroom of Palsitore High School overlooking the basketball court, nine masked students sat on one end of a long wooden table. Six other students, sans masks, sat on the other side of the table and watched with interest as the masked students spoke. A teacher, who wore a blank white mask and a pale robe, leaned against the wall next to the chalkboard.

A girl wearing a dazzling gold mask and a foppish Victorian hat spoke first, with a lilting British accent that evoked images of decadent balls and charming courtiers

"Madams, gentlemen, it seems we have a most dire problem facing us all." She slapped the chalkboard, which said 'Summer Play', with a handled chalkboard eraser. "The end of our juvenile acting careers is upon many of us, and we are in great need of a production that shall, er-hem, knock the socks off of everyone in attendance. It would be most gratifying to hear any suggestions from such gifted, talented professionals gathered here."

Her words earned her a moderate applause from the unmasked audience, but not quite enough to drown out the sound of dribbling basketballs.

A boy on her left, wearing a silver mask, a cowboy hat, and a sheriff's pin, stood up and said, "I reckon' we could use sumtin' fun! It ain't e'ryday us youngun's get to say goodbye to gals as purty and easy on the eyes as yourself, so we might as well make it a fun mem'ry. Whadd'yall say?"

His thick accent earned him some applause, but a sudden barrage of basketballs pounding backboards drowned it out.

Another student, this one wearing a ludicrously tall top hat that bumped the ceiling, a monocle, and a petticoat stuffed with monopoly money, remained seated as he hit the table and said, "You imbecile! It doesn't matter how much fun we have, what matters is how much money we make! And nothing draws a crowd to our venues more than slapping Sam on every production poster and promising the greatest spectacle of villainy and wrong-doing the world has ever seen!"

The student's mercantilistic antics earned him enough applause to compete with the dribbling drills below. Sam cleared his throat, stood up, and pressed his gloved hand against the striking, angular black mask he wore.

"I cannot. How could I commit such a travesty against those I hold as dear friends? No, I cannot permit myself to take center stage, to steal the light of glory and leave you all shrouded in darkness, for what kind of friend would I be if I took the credit for all of your hard work?"

The crowd jeered at him, shouting "Boo!" and "Get off the stage!" Then they chanted "Bring out the villain!", louder and louder until Sam sighed, made a sweeping bow, and leapt onto the table.

"But what kind of actor would I be if I didn't take the entire spotlight for myself!" he shouted, filling his voice with manic, prideful villainy. "The stage exists solely to extol my virtues and should remain unsullied by shoddy, half-baked acting. The crowd demands my name, their very hearts beat in unison to the sound of my footsteps behind the curtain, and it shall be I, Samuel Milone, the greatest actor the world has ever seen, that shall so thoroughly enthrall them with talent that they shall roam listless for all their lives, never again to enjoy the wonders of this world, for what natural beauty could compare to my divine image? And should anyone try to take that from me," Sam said, placing his black-robed arm over his face and scowling from behind his mask, "shall plead for death after I am through with them."

The miniature audience and the other actors gave him a quick standing ovation. Then the club president pulled up her mask and wiped sweat off her brow.

"Okay, I've had enough of the masks. Let's take them off."

"Thank god," the petticoat-wearing student said. "I don't think I can hold this monocle in any longer. It definitely won't work for a performance. I do like the coat though."

The club president, Emily Rosario, pulled a clipboard out from under the table and wrote on it. "Alright, any other comments?"

"This mask's a little too tight," the cowboy student said. "It's scrunching up the bridge of my nose."

"Think you can fix that?" Emily asked the prop master. The short, bald student nodded, and Emily wrote another note. "Alright, what about you Ben? How's that blaziken costume?"

Ben slipped off the mask and three feet of spiky blonde wig. Sweat matted his hair down and dripped from his nose.

"Way too fucking hot."

"Watch your language," the teacher said.

"Could we put some holes in this thing?" Ben asked.

"It's a rental, so no." Emily answered. "What about you Sam? Flashy enough for you?"

Sam took off his mask and gloves. "Fine. I gotta go."

"Already?" Emily asked. "We just started the meeting."

The prop master said, "Cut him some slack. He's got that exam in two days, remember?"

"Of course I remember! I'm just giving him a hard time." Emily smiled at Sam and said, "Don't study too hard, okay? I wouldn't want to find you buried under a pile of books again."

Sam chuckled and said, "You won't ever find me under the pile I'll have to study. See ya guys."

Sam frowned as he walked away. He took his backpack, went down the stairs to the library, and sat down in front of a messy-haired, glasses-wearing guy. Only those two features were visible behind the wall of textbooks stacked onto the table, everything from treatises on durant colony architecture to records of staravia migration patterns, the genetic theory of butterfree wing patterns, cranial case studies delving into pokemon physiology, sunflora growth charts, and other titles printed in too small a font for Sam to read.

"Hey Brandon," Sam said as he sat down, "Could you pass me some?"

Brandon Oak looked up from his book and straightened his glasses. "Isn't the drama club meeting today?"

"I left early."

Brandon pushed a pile towards him. Brandon pushed a pile towards him. On the hand atop the pile of books, on his left ring finger, glittered a slim gold band with a spherical blue gem embedded in the gleaming metal. The gem glowed softly in the library's fluorescent light. "You should stay. Once we graduate, odds are we won't see them again."

Sam shuffled through the pile until he found a text he didn't recognize. Then he opened it and glanced through the abstract outlining the metal composition of a metagross' claws. "We only get one shot at this exam. I'm not wasting it."

"Fair enough."

Twenty minutes of silence passed, broken only by the sound of pencils scratching against paper and the rustling of pages. Then Brandon passed a book forward.

"Here's something on sylveon ribbon composition and tensile strength. Interested?"

"No thanks. It's not that good of a read. Professor Ruskin wrote a more comprehensive treatise on sylveon that gets those points across better."

"But wasn't Ruskin wrong about the requirements for sylveon's evolution?"

"Not quite. He theorized the existence of a stone that housed the proper radiation, but he could never prove it. He also provided the correct evolution process."

"Huh. I should re-read it then." Brandon went digging through the pile of books, and then he pulled out a very thin, plastic-bound report. "Hey, have you read this one yet?"

Sam took the report and glanced on the cover. It read, in small, neat font, 'An Overview on the Projected Experimentation with Aura Infusion'.

"I haven't bothered. There's not enough data out there yet to make an exam topic."

"I'm not so sure about that," Brandon said. "My dad got a huge grant from Sinex to start working on it. They also gave him some DNA samples to work with. If there's going to be a breakthrough anywhere in a few years, it'll be here."

Sam flipped through the report and read its abstract. Then he handed it back to Brandon. "Maybe later. We better focus on more well-established areas of research. Speaking of which, where did you put that croagunk toxicology study? The medical research there's bound to come up in the exam."

"Oh, over here. It's a really good read."

Sam took the book and flipped through it. After reading the abstract, he skipped the research procedure and tore through the results, absorbing every scrap of data the researchers acquired. He took meticulous notes, writing down all the discernible trends, molecular structures of the most promising compounds, and potential sources of bias within the research. Once he was done, he set the book aside and hunted for another title, and he didn't stop reading until the sun had nearly set, turning the library a gorgeous vermillion mottled with all the various red-tinted shades of its covers.

Brandon took stacks of books that teetered over his head and set them in front of the librarian, offering an apology with each stack. Sam read for a while longer, until the last of the sunlight shrank away from his reading spot, and then he put his book back on the shelf.

Brandon was waiting for him outside the doors, leaning against a wall and typing on his tablet. When he saw Sam, he put the tablet away and walked up to him.

"Two days. Hard to believe, isn't it?"

"I guess so."

A minute of silence passed between them. Sam looked away, observing a slow, gentle drip from the tip of a water fountain. Then Brandon cleared his throat.

"I don't know if this is a good idea," he said.

"We've been over this. No one will take me seriously if you don't take the exam too."

"But that's just stupid! What'll you do if you don't get that money?"

Sam shifted his gaze lower, to a small puddle that had settled beneath the fountain. Every so often, its surface would ripple with a falling drop.

"Just take the stupid exam. And don't go easy on it either, you've got your own reputation to think about."

"What reputation? I haven't done anything, it's just my dad." Brandon ran a hand through his hair and said, "Look, they'll probably take both of us. If you don't get the scholarship from then… then how about a scholarship from me? I already asked dad, and he said he'd be more than happy to help you out in exchange for taking an intern position with him for a few years."

Sam gritted his teeth and said, "I have to go." He stormed down the hall, ignoring Brandon's shouts.

That night, Sam studied until dawn, muttering to himself as he read, repeating the same phrase over and over: "I won't lose to him."


	2. Chapters 3-4

Chapter Three: Too Small

Like three weeks ago, the Rizoni's basement throbbed with heavy metal guitar shredding. Like three weeks ago, students packed themselves around the food tables, slurping down soda, grinding chips into powder between their teeth, kissing, copping feels, whispering in each others' ears in a way that made them sound louder than the music. And like three weeks ago, two pokemon stared each other down in the bare concrete ring, scratching and biting at each other until one fell.

But unlike three weeks ago, Sam paid no attention to it. He neither heard the sound of claws tearing through skin and the yelps of a poochyena, nor did he see a sandshrew bristle its spines the moment before it unfurled a barrage of poison needles.

Within the mind of Samuel Milone, the world around him ceased to exist. Though his journal was closed, all he saw were an endless sea of specific, complex and nuanced questions, and his faltering, chaotic, rushed responses. Though he did not write, all he heard was the sound of pencil scratching on paper, echoing through his skull and shaking his brain. And though the exam had ended yesterday, all he felt was the beating of his own heart, the sensation of a pencil between his fingers, and beads of sweat rolling down his furrowed brow.

A hand shook his shoulder. He looked up at Jaunty Joe and returned to reality. "Is something happening?"

"You're up next. But before that, I need to talk to you. In private."

Sam followed him out of the basement, up the stairs, and into a bathroom. Joe turned on the faucet and slathered soap all over his hands.

"Matt's got a lot of people betting on him," he said as he scrubbed. "There's over two grand on him, and odds are two to one in your favor. I can't afford a four-grand hit, Sam."

Joe held the bottle of soap towards him. Sam held out his hands, and Joe squirted a dollop of lemon-scented soap onto his hands. The soap formed pale yellow bubbles as Sam rinsed it off.

"You won't have to. I'm not losing to Matt anytime soon."

"I don't know… he's got something planned to have this many people backing him. Just in case, I want you to take this."

Joe set a pokeball on the sink. "That spearow isn't much, but it'll give you fighting coverage, and it's one tough son of a bitch. Dad gave it to me, in case I ever needed to tip a match."

"I won't need it. Thanks though."

Joe turned up the water and rinsed his face under the faucet. Then he rubbed his face dry with a hand towel. "You do remember what happened last time, right? That match could've ended differently if you weren't so lucky."

"That was no luck," Sam said. "He didn't stand a chance, and neither does Matt."

"There is four-fucking-thousand dollars on the line here Sam! Take the goddamn spearow and win!"

"I won't. I will only use Luna, and I won't lose. If you're so worried, then cancel the match. One spearow isn't going to change anything."

Joe strangled the hand towel, and then he hung it up and turned off the water. "It's your ass if you lose," he said. "Remember that."

Joe walked out of the bathroom, leaving Sam alone. He turned the faucet back on and stared into the mirror. The angle of the lights made a shadow fall over the mirror's surface, casting his face in a dark mask.

"I won't lose," he told himself, "and to prove it, I'll show them all exactly what I'm capable of."

Sam knocked four times on the basement door, and a football player let him in. He grabbed a root beer, swallowed it all in one chug, crunched it up, and tossed it onto the floor. Then he sauntered into the ring and called out Luna."

"Right, let's do this. No holding back today Luna. Let's show them what we can do."

Luna glanced back, at first shocked, but then a huge grin lit up her face. She crouched and kicked up concrete dust with her paws.

"I hear you're talking a big game, Matt," Sam said. "I'm going to make you eat those words."

"That's what you think!" Matt called back. "Let's go zigzagoon!"

The announcer stood at the center of the ring and spoke through a megaphone. "This will be a four-on-one battle between Matt and Sam, with two-to-one odds. If you'd like to wager, now's your last chance.

After a moment, the announcer started the match. Sam snapped his fingers, and Luna raced forward, knocking the zigzagoon into the crowd.

"That's a knockout!" the referee called. "Zigzagoon is now unable to battle."

Half the crowd cheered at the lightning-fast victory. The other half watched in silence. A few looked worried, but most had smiles on their faces.

"Let's see you knock my geodude out of the ring!"

Matt called out his craggy pokemon, and it hunkered down on the concrete. Once the announcer signaled the start of the next round, Sam snapped his fingers again. This time, Luna's quick attack glanced off of the geodude's rocky outside.

"Ha!" Matt scoffed. "This one won't be so easy. Now use rock throw!"

The geodude tore a chunk off its own body and hurled it towards Luna. She leapt over it and flung a barrage of stars. They hissed and sparked against the geodude without leaving a scratch.

"We can do this all day. Rock throw!"

"Now Luna, spin it with double kick!"

Luna sidestepped the rock and dashed up to the geodude. Its arms still outstretched, it couldn't defend itself against Luna's paws. A well-placed kick made it spin top wise, and the geodude got more and more disoriented each time Luna spun it in a new direction. Brown flakes chipped off of the geodude's skin with each kick.

"Use harden!" Geodude tucked in its arms and tightened its muscles. The chips stopped falling, but the geodude still spun fast enough for its craggy body to turn into a smooth brown blur.

"Now jump into the air and kick it into the ground!" Luna leapt up and double-kicked it. The geodude's spinning lurched to a stop as Luna pressed its face against the ground. It flailed its arms and tried to push up, but Luna had it pinned.

"Don't let up! Double kick!"

Matt shouted command after command at the geodude, but nothing stopped Luna from gouging chip after chip out of the geodude's back. Sam smiled until the geodude managed to shift its face out from under the concrete. Blood was smeared across its stony surface.

"Stop!" Sam shouted. "Get off!" Luna leapt off and walked back towards him. The geodude pushed itself off the ground and glared at Luna.

"Sweet, we're still in this! Alright geodude, rock polish and then mega punch!"

The geodude, already worn smooth by all the spinning, honed itself into a sleek punching machine. It raced forward, and Luna took a grazing hit as she leapt aside.

"That's it," Sam muttered. "No more mercy." Then he shouted, "Iron tail!"

Luna bunched up her tail in a gleaming, solid mass and swung it up under the geodude. Her tail connected with a solid chunk, and the geodude touched the ceiling before it hit the ground. It groaned as Matt called it back. The crowd roared with cheering, and Matt's crowd lost the smiles on their faces until Matt gave them a thumbs up. Matt called out his next pokemon, an aron.

"Luna, iron tail combo!" Sam shouted as the third round started. Luna dashed forward and jumped, spun in the air, and slammed her tail into the aron's head with a metallic clang. Then she sprung up, landed on the ceiling, and jumped at the aron. Each time she hit the aron, leaving dents and scratches all along its body, she sprang back to the ceiling for the next attack. Luna made ten solid hits before Sam saw an opening. The aron bent its head forward to hide its eyes, exposing a thin, fragile, rocky plating behind its head.

"Now Luna, back of the neck!"

Luna sprang off the ceiling and landed a solid hit at the aron's exposed nape. The aron's head lurched forward, and it collapsed. The referee ran into the ring, examined the aron's neck, and sprayed super potion.

"Alright," the announcer said, "Now we're on to the final round! Let's see how Matt's torchic fares against Luna the lightning eevee!"

Another cheer roared out from both sides of the crowd. Matt gave Sam a cocky grin and threw his last pokeball forward.

"Come on out Blaze!"

Half the crowd fell silent when they saw Blaze. The other half kept cheering. Blaze the combusken stretched its legs and spat embers from its mouth. The referee ran over to Jaunty Joe, and they spoke for a moment before Joe called Sam over.

"I can't believe Matt's such an idiot," Joe said. "I can cancel the match because he didn't report the evolution. However, his crowd won't be happy."

"Well, what do you want to do?"

"If you won, they wouldn't be mad about the match being cancelled. But looking at Luna… I don't think she has it in her."

Luna crouched and glared at her opponent, but her legs shook and her chest heaved with fast, heavy breaths.

Sam looked at his eevee, then at the combusken. "If he thinks that a freshly evolved combusken has any chance," Sam said, "Then he's in for a surprise."

Joe stared at the ring and ran a hand through his sticky, goopy hair. Then he sighed and said, "Well, normally I'd stop you, but after seeing that iron tail, well, I want to see what other tricks you've got. Kick his ass, Sam."

Joe held out a fist, and Sam bumped it. Bits of hair gel stuck to Sam's fingers.

"Consider it kicked, Jaunty Joe. The decibel meter has a better chance of beating me than he does."

Sam walked back to the ring, and Joe had his two football players set up fiberglass screens around the ring's perimeter. The crowd pressed themselves against the walls as the referee started the match.

"Luna, use swift!" A volley of stars sailed towards Blaze, but embers burned them to nothing.

"Blaze, double kick!" The combusken raced forward and lashed out with its legs. Luna ran underneath the attack and moved to the other side of the ring.

"Keep your distance, and don't let up with swift," Sam called. Luna sent out a more widely spread barrage of stars, and a few made it through Blaze's screen of embers. The stars slammed into the combusken's legs, making it wobble.

"Alright, quick attack!" Luna raced forward and slammed into the combusken's chest, knocking it back into the screens.

"Double kick, now!" Matt ordered. The combusken pushed itself off the fiberglass and ran for Luna, but she leapt around the attack.

"Again, swift!" Luna flung another volley of stars, and this time, each one connected with the Blaze's backside. It knelt on the ground and pushed itself back up.

"Drive it to the glass with ember!"

Luna sprinted to the side, but Blaze cut off her escape with a flurry of fire. The combusken strode closer and closer as it boxed Luna in.

"Now, double kick!"

As the combusken shifted its weight, Sam saw where its strike would fall. "Dodge right, and sweep its left leg with iron tail!"

Luna took a grazing hit as she leapt aside, and then she bunched up her tail and slammed it into Blaze's shin. The combusken hopped up and down, massaging its bruised leg, and Luna struck at its other leg. However, Blaze jumped at the last moment and landed on both legs.

"Rush in and scratch it," Matt ordered.

"Block with a double kick!"

Luna knocked back the combusken's arm and followed up with a close-range swift barrage. Blaze teetered back, breathing heavily. Sam saw flickers of fire in its beak and ordered Luna to back away.

"Alright Blaze, light 'em up!"

This time, the combusken's ember packed far more heat, and it consumed Luna's swift attack. Luna dodged by leaping high over the flames, but it left her in the air for Blaze's second ember.

Sam smiled as he saw the combusken prepare the decisive blow. He grimaced when he thought of the decibel meter, but then he gave the order.

"Luna, use shadow ball!"

As she fell, Luna gathered a sphere of nebulous dark energy, drawing power from all the shadows in the room. Then she flung it forward, and it smashed through Blaze's flames before careening into its chest. Blaze flew into the fiberglass and tipped it back, shot up the slick panel, hit the ceiling, and fell into the crowd. It tried to stand, but its legs wouldn't stop shaking.

"That's a–" the referee started to call, but Matt's crowd called for a sound check. Joe and the referee played back the decibel meter, Joe hit a few buttons on the device, and then the referee said, "After further review, Sam's last attack did not exceed ninety decibels. Therefore, the victory goes to Sam!"

Matt's crowd groaned and booed, but Jaunty Joe blasted an airhorn.

"However, Matt also didn't tell us his torchic evolved. Since his team was bad to begin with, the match is cancelled. Everyone gets back their bets on this match."

That announcement pacified the crowd, and after they collected their wagers and polished off the food on the tables, they drifted out of the basement, until only Sam and Jaunty Joe's crew remained behind. Joe walked up to him and clapped him on the back.

"Holy shit man, that was amazing! When the hell did you teach Luna shadow ball?"

"It took a while, and a lot of research," Sam answered. "I can't believe we stayed under the noise limit."

Joe smiled and rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, about that, you actually did go over. Ninety-two decibels, to be exact. I fudged the numbers a bit so no one's gonna notice."

"Well, like I said, if anything was gonna beat me, it'd be the decibel meter. Too bad I won't be able to use shadow ball anymore."

"Don't be so sure about that." Jaunty Joe handed Sam an envelope full of cash, with a street name and a time written on it. "You're too good for the kiddy ring. Why don't you try my dad's ring instead? You'd make a lot more than fifty bucks a match."

Sam took the money and counted it. Then he said, "Thanks, but I don't want any real trouble. I'll stay here for now."

Jaunty Joe frowned. "Alright, but so you know, I won't be able to get anyone to bet on your matches after this. Nobody here can top what you did tonight."

"That's fine. I won't be here much longer anyways. See ya in a few weeks."

Sam counted his earnings as he walked home. Once he was in his bedroom, Sam almost threw away the envelope, but the thought of his mother finding it made him keep it with his money. He tried to sleep, but even after the night's excitement, all he could think about was that exam.

Chapter Four: Bittersweet

In classroom 305, to the sound of tennis balls twanging off of nylon and acrylic, the drama club brainstormed ideas for the summer play. Character sketches and plot themes cluttered the chalkboard, but whenever the writing club came up with an idea, the art club would point out the cost of hand-making fifty costumes, and anytime the art club brought up a set of props they had in storage, the actors would insist it had to be fresh and new.

As the debate raged back and forth, Sam stared at a wall. To his eyes, the wall was covered with questions and answers and echoed with the scratching of pencil on paper.

Someone shook his shoulder, snapping him out of his daydream. "Sam!" Emily shouted in his ear. "Snap out of it! Jesus Christ, I thought you were dead!"

"What is it?" Sam asked.

"What is it? I was calling your name for a whole minute!"

"Oh. Sorry."

Emily sighed and said, "You should go home and rest. You haven't been yourself lately."

"Can't. The meeting's at four."

"What meeti– oh. Oh. Uh, maybe you should get some water. You look pale as a sheet."

"No thanks," Sam answered blankly. "I'm fine."

"Uh, okay then. Do you, do you have any thoughts on what we should do?"

"Anything's fine."

"Oh really?" one of the students asked. "Then how about you play a damsel in distress, with the pretty pink princess outfit from last year's winter production?"

Sam turned back towards the wall and said, "Works for me."

The student frowned and said, "Oh wow, something really is wrong with him."

"Guys, give him some space," Emily said. Then she placed a hand on his shoulder and said, "It's not the end of the world, Sam. Even if you don't get in at Yvenna, there'll be plenty of other schools that'll take you in. So, just hang in there, okay?"

Sam looked up at the clock. The time was five to four. He stood up and left without a word, leaving his backpack behind. By the time Emily noticed and ran after him, he had already turned down the hall and vanished from sight.

Sam arrived at the principal's office at four o clock exact. The room was sparsely furnished, with a plain, clean desk, four chairs, and two potted ferns. Brandon was already waiting in the farthest chair, staring down at his hands, and the principal, a stern old man with a neatly trimmed gray mustache, piercing brown eyes, and an angular chin, smiled and gestured towards the empty chairs. Sam took the one farthest from Brandon.

"Well boys, here are your exams," he said, handing each of them a thick, heavy booklet. Sam swallowed, rubbed sweat out of his eyes, and opened his booklet with a trembling, sticky hand. His heart sank when he saw a neat, small, black fifty-one percent written in the final score box. He glanced over at Brandon, and Sam reluctantly held up his score. Brandon revealed his forty-nine, and Sam felt a wave of relief wash over him.

"I must say, boys, the professors were impressed," the principal said. "That's the entry exam for graduate students, and they averaged a thirty-seven. Overall, you'd rank fifth and sixth, respectively, out of everyone who took the exam. You should be proud of the results."

"So," Sam said, "Does that mean?"

The principal smiled even wider and said, "Yes, Sam, you won the scholarship. Congratulations!"

The principal held out his hand, and Sam nervously took it. The man's wedding ring felt icy against his skin, and his hand felt like the vapor from a refrigerator.

Then the principal turned towards Brandon and said, "While you haven't won the scholarship, you were accepted into Yvenna as well. As I understand it, you shouldn't have any financial problems, which is quite fortunate. Money has been dreadfully tight this year, with Sinex pulling funding from the education board."

"Wait, they're pulling funds from education?" Brandon asked. "Why?"

"It's not just education. Many government programs are going through major budget slashes." Then the principal frowned and said, "Oh, that reminds me. I have some bad news for you Sam."

Sam felt a shiver run through his gut. "What is it?"

"Because of all the budget cuts, the school board was forced to reduce the size of the scholarship, to fifty-thousand dollars. There are student loan options available, but even with those, you'll only have half of what you need. I'm sorry, and if there was anything I could do to help, I would. I hope that either your parents or other scholarship options will be able to get you the finances you need."

Sam didn't answer. Instead, he looked through his exam booklet. Most of his answers got partial credit, with added details and deletions marked in red ink. For the one answer he had gotten completely right, about the effects of wind farms on bird migrations, the words "well done" were written next to his answer.

"Thank you," Sam said. "I have to go now."

"Oh, alright. Information about the scholarship was emailed to you, don't forget to read it."

Sam left the school, but he didn't return home. Instead, he went to the Checkered Café, nestled in the corner of two shopping center streets. Every surface, from its walls to its floors and tables and chairs, had a black and white checker pattern. However, all the surfaces were done in different shades, sizes, and textures that made the café appear to have a wider variety of colors, including rustic wooden brown in the walls, faded forest green on the ceiling, and a vibrant tile floor that intensified all the other subtler hues.

Sam took an empty booth and glanced across the restaurant. A young couple shared cups of tea, and an older, grizzled gentleman sipped black coffee as he read a newspaper. A flash of gold made Sam stare at the old man longer, and after a minute, he glimpsed the man's police badge, tucked underneath his coat.

A checker-clad waitress holding a pot of tea walked up to his table and said, "Welcome back Sam! Great to see you again! How've you been?"

"Better. The usual please."

The waitress' smile vanished, and she poured him a mug of green tea, then she took a sugar packet out of her pocket and poured it in. Sam took a spoon from her and stirred it.

"So, what happened? I haven't seen you around lately."

"Had a big exam," he said. "Didn't go well."

"Oh, you failed? Wow, I don't know what to say. You studied so hard for it."

Sam didn't correct her. He drained all the tea in his mug and held it out for a refill. The waitress poured him another cup, and Sam took it without the sugar. The waitress opened her mouth, but then she shook her head and turned around.

"Well, I better check on the others," Sam muttered to himself as he opened his tablet. He searched through his list of scholarship entries and clicked the links. Scholarship after scholarship had funding pulled, and with their apologies, were cancelled. Even the smaller options, financed by wealthy patrons, apologized for being unable to support all the applicants they received. Every single one of Sam's scholarships sent him an email telling him there would be no money for his dream.

Sam slumped back in his chair and brought the mug up to his lips, but only air poured into his mouth. He looked into the mug before setting it down. A moment later, the waitress took the mug, refilled it, added two helpings of sugar, and set a slice of chocolate cake in front of him.

"On the house," she told him with a smile. "I figured our favorite customer could use a pick-me-up."

"Oh. Thanks."

Sam took a bite of the cake without tasting it. "Delicious," he said.

The waitress gave him a smile and walked away. Sam scarfed down the rest of the cake, drained the tea, and put twenty dollars on the table. After a pause, Sam dug five more dollars out of his pocket and added them to the pile.

He walked home, clutching the exam booklet in his hands. He opened the door and ran upstairs, but his mother called him back down.

"Sam, honey, you have a guest. Come downstairs!"

Sam paused in front of his door. Then he went to the stairs and peeked down. Emily waved from the kitchen table, holding his backpack in front of her.

"Hey Sam! You didn't come back for this, so I thought I'd bring it over to your place, and you weren't home yet, so I thought I'd wait for you. So, how'd it go?"

Sam stepped downstairs and bitterly said, "I won."

"Oh, that's wonderful sweetie!" his mother said, squeezing him in a hug. Sam squirmed out and said, "I won, but it doesn't mean a thing. They pulled the funding for it."

Mrs. Milone's face froze. "Wait, what? What do you mean?"

"There's no money. They're only giving me fifty grand."

Sam's mother softly smiled and said, "Well, that's something, right? I'm sure you'll get the rest from other scholarships."

Sam threw his exam onto the table and shouted, "No I won't! There isn't a single god damn scholarship left! None! They all have funding pulled mom!"

"Sam! Watch your language!"

"What are you talking about?" Emily asked.

"Check yours," Sam said. "You'll see."

Emily took out her tablet and checked her email. After a minute, she set it down and said, "That can't be right. I just checked them all two days ago. There's – there's no way. Even the thespian's scholarship… how?"

"It's all gone. It's all gone and there's nothing I can do about it."

His mother placed a hand on his shoulder and said, "We can always take out a loan. We'll make it happen, somehow."

Sam brushed the hand away. "It's a hundred grand, and that doesn't even include textbooks, the apartment, and food, those'll be another sixty. It's not possible."

Except for the gentle hum of the dishwasher, the kitchen fell silent. Emily glanced back and forth between Sam and his mother and said, "I, uh, I should go."

"Oh, yes, here, let me show you the door," Mrs. Milone said. "Stay safe on your way back, okay?"

"Thanks for my backpack," Sam called as the door closed. Before his mother could say anything, Sam ran upstairs and locked his door. He sat down at his desk and rummaged through all his papers and books, flipping through them and rubbing the pages between his fingers. He thought about going out for another cup of tea and checked his wallet. It was empty. Sam closed the curtains and crawled under the bed, digging up the shoebox and prying open the false bottom.

The envelope popped out. Sam read the address and looked it up on his tablet – it led to some alleyway in the outskirts of the city towards the Westside. He took out his tablet and opened up his contacts, but then he put it out away and called out Luna.

"Listen, Luna," Sam told his eevee. "The only way to get into Yvenna is to get serious, but I won't do it if you don't want to. So, Luna, should we do it?"

Luna jumped onto his lap and purred, stroking his arm with her tail. Sam chuckled and said, "Alright, I'll make the call." He pressed the contact button and held up the tablet to his ear.

"Hey Joe, it's Sam," he said. "I changed my mind. Let your dad know I want in."

He could imagine Jaunty Joe grinning and running his fingers through his gel-slicked hair as he said, "Sweet man, pops is gonna be happy."

Sam put away the envelope and sat on the bed with Luna, stroking her fur and staring up into darkness until he fell asleep.


	3. Chapters 5-6

Chapter Five: Getting Serious

On the day listed on the envelope, four days after receiving his exam, Samuel Milone put on the mask sitting on his desk, wore a dark, baggy hooded sweatshirt, stuffed his left shoe with five hundred dollars, bought himself a few potions, and snuck out while his mother was working at her pottery shop. He followed the directions to the deserted alleyway, just far enough out of the main residential areas to avoid having anyone overhear a brawl. Though the streets were deserted, Sam felt eyes staring at him from the shadowy recesses of dark alleyways and building corners.

Sam heard the brawling ring before he saw it. Roars of laughter clashed with snarling pokemon, beers clicked as pokeballs hissed open and shut, and shouts of wagers drowned out the cries of pain as each pokemon suffered blow after blow. Sam took a deep breath, shifted his mask, and walked up to the brawl. Three dozen hoodlums, all sporting flashy masks, baggy jeans, and sweatshirts with a motley display of stains and spray-painted symbols, crowded the chalk circle in the pavement, cheering and hissing at every swipe of claws and clamping of teeth. A handful of women lounged around, some surrounded by large groups of ogling, fondling men, others mingling in their own groups.

Four muscular women flanked the ringmaster's chair, offering him beer and chips every time he held out a hand. Those four were clad in skintight black suits that left only the lower half of their breasts and a slim portion of their hips to the imagination, and sometimes, when they moved, their clothes would shift just enough to catch a glimpse of what lay beneath. When one turned to throw away a beer bottle, Sam saw that she had a .44 Magnum holstered in the crack of her ass.

The ringmaster, Mr. Rizoni, was an enormous, beefy man with a wild mop of greasy blonde hair, a huge pair of glittering Oakleys, a thick gold jacket that was just tight enough to curve around the man's enormous biceps and pecs, faded dress pants that hung loose around his waist, and a set of cracked, rusty knuckledusters, carefully polished around his fingers, clasped onto his hands.

One of the girls nudged the ringmaster, and he looked over at Sam. He stood and roared into the crowd, "Ladies and gents, here's the guest of honor! Let's give a round of applause to our newest, youngest brawler here!"

Sam received a mocking applause full of jeers and shouts of "Get back to kindergarten!"

Sam gritted his teeth and scanned the eyes of the crowd. Each man there looked like an older version of all the students in the juvie brawl rings. He considered what retort would best win them over and then shouted back, "At least I graduated from kindergarten!"

The crowd laughed, and shouts of "Damn, that kid's got guts!" and "Gimme dat burn heal!" rippled through the ring. Mr. Rizoni clapped, his hands making a metallic chinking sound each time his knuckledusters rapped against each other, and he waved Sam over.

"Not bad, kid," he said, holding out his hand. Sam shook it, and despite the man's formidable, muscular hands, his handshake barely grazed his skin. "You can call me Smiles. So, what should I call you?"

Sam almost said his own name, and then he fumbled around for the first word he could think of.

"Feathers? Good to meet you, Feathers. Ready to bet?" Sam nodded. Smiles stood up and shouted, "Now, Feathers, here thinks that none of you pussies can last a round against him. Who wants to prove him wrong?"

Several hoodlums moved forward, but the first to reach Smiles was a lanky, tall, pimple-faced man with a skull mask.

"Let me at the kid," he said. "I promise to be gentle and not make the pipsqueak cry."

"Sure Bones," Mr. Rizoni said, "Sounds like a good match. Your terms?"

"Two on two, and nine hundred to his three."

"Let's make it two on one," Sam said.

Bones thought it over and said, "Well, you caught me on a good day, so why not? I'll go easy on you."

Sam grinned. "Who said you were the one?"

Bones slapped his hands together and laughed. "Wow, you crazy kid! Tell you what? I'll put down my nine-hundred to your fifty dollars. Gotta make sure you have enough of your allowance left to buy yourself a sucker."

"Easiest nine-hundred bucks I ever made," Sam retorted. He held out his hand, and Bones shook it. Then they handed Smiles their wagers and told him their pokemon.

"Alright everyone, you heard the bet. Eighteen to one, Bones' favor, for a one-on-two fight, with Feathers' eevee against Bones nuzleaf and machoke. Who wants to bet on that?"

Sam heard whispers in the crowd. "Ooh, the machoke, he's getting serious." Almost everyone bet on bones, but a few staked a handful of dollars on him, including a rabbit-masked woman in a slim brown leotard.

"Everyone ready?" Smiles asked. "Sweet. Let's get started!"

The crowd cleared out of the chalk circle. Sam and Bones stood on opposite ends and called out their pokemon. Bones' nuzleaf stretched its arms and flipped its leaf back, while Luna crouched and kicked at the dusty, gritty pavement.

"Alright, stay sharp Lu–" Sam stopped himself from saying her name. "Lucky. Stay sharp. We're fighting blind here, alright?"

Luna looked back at him and growled.

"Ready? Begin!" Smiles shouted.

"Fake out!" Bones ordered. His nuzleaf raced forward, arms outstretched.

"Sand attack!" Luna flung pawfuls of dust forward, and the nuzleaf raced into it. It covered its eyes tried to stop, but its momentum carried it up to Luna.

"Now, sweep with iron tail!" Luna bunched up her tail and slammed it into the nuzleaf's legs. It tumbled forward and landed on its back, rubbing its bruised shins.

"Follow through with double kick!" Luna jabbed both hind paws back and sent the nuzleaf hurtling through the air. It rolled to a stop inches from the edge of the ring and propped itself up on its knees.

"B-bullet seed!" Bones shouted.

"Swift!"

The nuzleaf spat out a few seeds, but they were swallowed up by a torrent of stars. With a blinding flash, the nuzleaf was thrown into the crowd.

"And the first knockout goes to Lucky the eevee!"

The crowd roared with cheers and taunts. Sam heard a mixture of "Hot damn, that kid's got some moves!" and "C'mon Bones, I got money on you man! Don't let me down!"

Bones called back his pokemon and shook his head. "Wow, kid. I almost went easy on you. But, too bad for you, I'm not a nice guy. Go, machoke!"

He threw out his final pokemon, a burly machoke wearing a skull mask. The machoke slid it off and threw it towards Bones, who caught it with one hand.

"Right, machoke, don't let that eevee fool you. It took out nuzleaf like he was nothing. Keep on that eevee, you hear?"

The machoke grunted and lowered its stance. When Smiles started the match, it rushed forward, with its right arm poised back for a chop.

"Keep your distance and harry it with swift," Sam called. Luna ducked back and fired stars at the machoke. It didn't stop running, but all the flashes made it squint its eyes. It flung its arm forward, just a hair to the left.

"Deflect left with iron tail, and follow through."

Luna swept the arm aside, turning the machoke and leaving its right side exposed. Luna turned, and slammed her tail beneath the machoke's ribcage, making it gasp for breath.

"Grab it!" Bones shouted.

"Get out of there!"

The machoke scrambled towards Luna, but she hopped in between its arms and came out behind it.

"Now, shadow ball!"

Luna collected shadows from across the alleyway. Bones stared in shock at the growing sphere and shouted, "Oh fuck, get down!"

The crowd parted, leaving the alleyway empty behind the machoke. As Luna fired, the machoke flattened itself against the ground, and the shadow ball glanced off its back, leaving black scorch marks across its skin. The shadow ball then skipped against the ground, chipping fragments out of the pavement before slamming into the building behind it, sending cracks through the mortar.

The machoke stood up, and its muscles rippled, bulging outward and stiffening. It wiped the blood from its lips and smiled at Luna. "Alright," Bones said, "We're still in this. Now, finish it in one blow! Revenge!"

The machoke sprang forward, unnaturally fast. Luna barely had time to block with her iron tail before the machoke sent it flying with one massive undercut. Blood welled up from Luna's face, but she twirled her body to face the ground. Sam paused for a moment, imagining how much the next move would hurt, but he shoved the feeling aside and flung out his arm.

"Now, shadow ball, and give it some backspin!"

As she fell, Luna gathered the energy, spun it towards her, and fired it at the machoke. It leapt back, but the spin of the shadow ball kicked up a barrage of concrete chunks, lacerating its face and chest.

"Now, shadow ball with forward spin!"

Using residual energy from the last attack, Luna charged the second shot even faster and sent it hurtling towards the first ball. When the two balls touched, they both spun each other, flinging even more gravel at the machoke's face before the oncoming shadow ball slammed into its legs. Its momentum and spin made it travel up the machoke's body while shoving it into the ground, clawing at the machoke's chest and spraying a fountain of blood into the air. This time, when the shadow ball slammed into a wall, the machoke stayed still. Blood gushed out of its chest, pooling into the ground around it, and half the belt around its waist was torn away.

The crowd broke out in a mix of loud applause, a lot of heckling at Bones, and a few wild, joyous shouts. Sam picked up Luna, wiped the blood out of her eyes, and carried her over to Smiles. As Sam collected his winnings, a thick handful of bills bound with a frazzled rubber, Bones walked up to him and held out his hand. Sam hid a grimace as he took his grimy, sweaty hand.

"Damn, I don't know what's worse, losing all that money or losing to a kid like you. But damn, that was some fine brawling! What the hell do they teach kids these days?"

"If I actually listened to what they told me, then I wouldn't be here, now would I?"

"Hah! Wow, I'm betting on you from now on. Win me back all that money and we'll call it even, alright?"

"Uh, sure. I need to take care of L – Lucky."

Sam turned away from the crowd and sat over in a corner. He sprayed a potion onto Luna's gashes, angling the sprayer so it wouldn't burn her eyes, and he worked it into her skin with a cotton swab. Once he was done, the woman in the rabbit mask sat next to him, facing away from him. She lounged back, laying on the ground and baring a generous slice of cleavage. Sam looked up at the buildings.

"Thanks kid. You won me a lot of money tonight."

"Uh, sure."

"So, what's a kid like you doing here? Wait, let me guess – you need money for college."

She chuckled when Sam turned away from her. "Oh, don't worry sweetie, I'm not gonna arrest you."

Sam turned back around. "Wait, arrest me?"

"Oh, so you don't know?" She giggled and said, "I'll let Smiles handle it. Just don't let me catch you with a gun or drugs, and we're cool, alright?"

Before Sam could say anything else, she sprung up and disappeared into the crowd. Sam looked around and saw Smiles, handing out generous sums of money to the few adventurous betters that won on Sam's match. He waited until Smiles was done before walking up to him.

"Hey, mind if I ask you something?"

"Yeah, go ahead."

"Who's that woman in the rabbit mask?"

Smiles slapped his forehead, leaving lines from his knuckledusters, and said, "Oh shit, I forgot to tell you. That's our bunny."

"What?"

"Bunny – cop. She's the reason we can run this joint without getting busted. Mr. Deltoro – the guy who owns all the rings – he's got a deal with the cops. He lets them watch and make sure nothing serious happens here, and in return, we don't get busted. So, if you see a bunny mask, keep your distance, okay? They're not out to get you, but you shouldn't go grabbing a cop's boobs either."

Sam felt himself burning underneath the mask. He stayed for a few more matches, placing token bets each time. He tried to pay attention to the pokemon, but without his notebook, his eyes kept straying into the crowd, hunting for a pair of lily-white ears, and each time he'd find them, a shiver ran down his spine.

Chapter Six: Loss of Senses

Sam tried to concentrate in class, but a buzz echoed in his head all morning. No matter how hard he shook his head or whacked his ears, the buzz wouldn't stop. His vision also felt blurry – he could tell that his math teacher was writing an integral on the smartboard, but all the numbers faded into blobs of green and red, melting into the white smear of screen on the wall.

His teacher said something. Sam saw her lips move, but he couldn't make out any of her words. His mind wandered away from the classroom, and he saw, in vivid clarity, a pair of ears poking out from a sea of heads. The ears dipped and bobbed through the crowd, winding ever closer to him. He tried to stand up and run, but his body wouldn't move from his desk. The ears reached the edge of the crowd, and a woman's body emerged from the writhing mass of faceless hoodlums, wearing a brown bikini tight and flexible enough to show every curve beneath them. Around her ring finger twirled a pair of glittering golden handcuffs. Sam strained, tugged against the invisible strings that pinned him to the desk, but he could only watch as the woman's hand snaked forward and clamped the handcuffs around his left wrist.

"Sam!"

The teacher's shout snapped him back to reality. Though his vision remained fuzzy, he could see the wrinkled teacher's hand shaking his wrist.

"Sam, snap out of it! Are you feeling alright?"

"Oh, sorry. Didn't sleep well last night."

"You're pale as a sheet!" She pressed a hand against his head and said, "You're awfully cold too. Maybe you should go to the nurse's office."

"I'll be fine. Thanks though."

The teacher frowned, and Sam could only tell because her forehead bunched up into rows of wrinkles. "Well, don't be shy. If you have to go, then go. Don't ask."

For a split second, Sam saw a pair of rabbit ears above the teacher's head, unnaturally clear and bright against the blurred mess of reality. He blinked, and the image vanished, and yet he couldn't shake the feeling that they were still there.

"I – okay."

As the teacher walked away from him, he heard another set of footsteps, muffled scrapes of soft pads against a rough stone floor. Sam tried to turn, and though his body stayed still, his vision whipped around the room. For a split moment, he saw burning buildings, and then pain raced through his left eye. It felt as though his eye had turned into molten lava and seeped into his veins, scorching further into his head with each heartbeat. Sam tried to scream, but the shock from the pain kept his throat too tight to let any air out, or in. He choked on his own neck muscles as he tipped out of his chair, and he blacked out well before his head hit the floor.

When Sam woke up, he lay in a bed he didn't know, staring up at a ceiling he didn't recognize. His head throbbed on the left side. He tried to lift his head, but he couldn't move. A shadow loomed over him, and Sam peered out of his peripheral vision. The figure seemed blurry, but he could make out the large red cross on Nurse Delita's uniform. A light shined in his eyes, and he blinked at the sudden brightness.

Her words seemed as though they swam through molasses to reach him. Each time her lips moved, it took a few seconds for her words to reach his brain, and the desynchonization of lips and sound made Sam's head spin. "Don't try to move," she told him. "We called for a Doctor to take a look at you, but it's probably just stress. Some kids get it worse than others, especially when they're about to finish high school. You also bumped your head, but your pupils are normal, so it's nothing too serious."

Sam tried to tell her he was paralyzed, but his tongue wouldn't move either. Every inch of his body, from his eyelids to his toes, wouldn't answer his brain's frantic attempts to get them moving. Sam struggled against the heavy, invisible blanket holding him down, but he felt smothered by his own body. His breathing, spurred on only by his body's instinct for survival, supplied him with a thin, steady dose of oxygen, leaving his brain in a suffocating state that sent tingles of pain through his chest. His mouth felt as though it were stuffed with salt, so dry that his tongue clung to the roof of his mouth, and his nose had an intense, burning itch.

He heard a knock, and his eyes flicked up towards the door. Brandon was standing outside, bending the corner of an envelope in his hands.

"I hope you don't mind a visitor," Nurse Delita said. "I normally wouldn't allow it, but I think he'll do you some good. Just shake your head if you don't want to see him."

Sam tried to move, but he couldn't even make his neck muscles twitch.

"Alright, I'll let him in. I won't let him stay too long – you need your rest."

Brandon pulled up a chair, sat next to the bed, and pulled a thin slip of paper out the envelope. The sound of paper rasping against paper felt like sand rubbing at Sam's eardrums.

"Sam, I, uh, well, everyone at the drama club's worried about you. They tried to see you, but the nurse wouldn't let them in. But, well, she let me in after I asked her. I, uh, want to give you something. I talked it over with my dad, and he took a look at your exam, and he decided to help you out, in exchange for being his intern. So… here you go."

Brandon took his hand, pried it open, pressed the paper inside, and pushed the fingers closed. "There. That's two-hundred thousand, everything you need to get to grad school. My dad will talk to you himself to go over being his intern, and all that." Brandon scratched the back of his neck and said, "I hope that makes you feel better." He looked up at the clock and stood. "Well, I should be going. Get some rest, and get, uh, get better soon, okay?"

Sam stared at the paper in his hands. It felt heavy, as though it were going to crush his arm under its weight. He could just barely make out the neat, six-digit figure written in vibrant black ink, along with an eloquent and flamboyant signature at the bottom. There it was, everything he needed to go to college, leave with a successful career, and have an easy life, and all he could think about was how badly he wanted to drop it. Sam willed his fingers to move, staring at them until the fingertips started to shake. Millimeter by millimeter, his hands parted and his wrist twisted until the check slid out of his hand, floated through the air, and landed gently on the floor.

Brandon turned just before he left the room and saw the check on the floor. He walked over, picked it up, and placed it on the table next to Sam's bed.

"I got that for you. It'll be right here when you wake up."

Brandon turned towards the door. Sam pried his mouth open and forced himself to whisper, "Wait."

Brandon stopped. "What is it?"

Sam reached towards the table. Inch by inch, his trembling hand crept forward until it fell on top of the check. His fingers twitched closed, and he shuffled his fingers so they wouldn't crumple the check. Then he forced himself to stand, first by dragging his left arm back and pushing up, then reaching out with his right and propping himself up on a bedpost. His legs shook as they struggled to bear his weight, and his back hunched over. Sam eased his hand off the bedpost and held the check towards Brandon.

"Thanks," he said hoarsely, "But I can't take it."

"You don't have to worry!" Brandon said. "My dad's doing really well, Sinex just – uh, well he's doing fine. So don't worry and take it."

"That's not it." Sam took a few deep breaths. He could feel warmth seeping into his muscles. His back straightened, his hands stopped shaking, and his tongue felt limber. "I want to be a pokemon professor, but I want to get there on my own. I could take the money and have all my problems solved, but I'll spend the rest of my life thinking it was too easy. I'd rather earn it."

"But you did earn it!" Brandon shouted. "I mean, yeah, I asked my dad to look into you, but he would've given you that internship regardless. You're just as good – no, better than I am, and nobody deserves this money more than you. So please, just take it."

"I don't want it."

"Then how? How the hell are you going to come up with this kind of money by yourself, huh? I – look, I understand. I feel that way all the time. I feel like I'm just handed everything. I don't have to worry about finances, and I have my dad to teach me everything I need to know. But it would be stupid not to take it. So please, take the god damn money."

Sam pushed the check into Brandon's arms. "I'll find my own way."

Brandon clenched a fist as he took the check. "Fine. Go ahead and try. I – the offer still stands, Sam, so when - if you give up, let me know." He turned away, said, "Get some rest," and ran out.

Sam walked towards the door, but Nurse Delita stopped him.

"And where do you think you're going?"

"I've got two-hundred thousand dollars to make."

"Not right now, you don't. The doctor will be here in ten minutes. He'll take a look at you, and then we'll see if you get to go or not." She pointed at the bed and said, "Lay down. At least sit. I don't want you hitting your head again if you pass out. Good lord, I should've known letting a visitor in was a bad idea."

The nurse mumbled to herself as she ran a towel under the faucet. She guided Sam onto the bed and placed the towel against the bruise on Sam's head. He winced as she applied pressure, but the cool, wet towel eased the throbbing pain.

Sam itched to get out of bed, but under the stern gaze of the nurse, he resigned himself to lying in bed. Each minute dragged on, and the clock announced each momentous second with a thunderous tock. He tapped his fingers against the sheets, willing the clock to go faster, and he sighed in relief when the doctor arrived five minutes early.

"Hello there!" he called, entering the room with a flamboyant stride. His black hair stuck up in a weird, bobbing point, with streaks of gray adding subtle shades to his groomed sideburns. He had astonishingly thick corrective lenses held in place with dull bronze frames heavy enough to press down the man's ears, a gleaming white lab-coat with five bulging pockets, and instead of a stethoscope, the doctor wore a lead pocket watch around his neck on an iron chain. He held a large black toolkit that clanged and rustled each time he swung his arms. "I hope you don't mind I'm five minutes early."

"Oh, not at all, Doctor Drake! He's already awake, and he was standing on his own and talking just a bit ago."

"Good! Probably not a concussion then, but I'll still have to do some extensive testing. Cases like these are pretty rare, so we better make sure nothing else is going on." He clapped his hands and said, "Right! Let's get started!" He strode over to Sam's bed and loomed over him. Then he looked back at the nurse and said, "Could you leave us alone for a moment?"

"Oh, sure," she said.

"And be sure to lock the door behind you, okay? I don't want anyone walking in on this."

The door clicked shut, and a bolt slid in place. Once they were alone, the doctor smiled down at him.

"Can you do me a favor, young man?"

"Uh, what is it?" Sam asked.

The doctor took the pocket watch off of his neck. "When I open this watch, whatever you do, don't look at it."

"Got it," Sam mumbled.

"Let me repeat that," Doctor Drake said as he put on gloves from his pocket. "No looking into the watch. Understand?"

"I said I got it."

"No no, say 'I won't look into the pocket watch', okay?"

"Okay. I won't look into the pocket watch."

"Good! Instead, I want you to look into my eyes. Just look at me, alright?"

"Okay." Sam shifted his gaze up to the man's eyes. Behind the man's lenses, his eyes were two giant blue spheres with a tiny black speck in the center.

"Good! Here we go."

The watch clicked open. Sam felt nothing at first, but then the drowsy, heavy sensation he felt when he woke up returned. It felt as though the watch were putting out heat like a lamp, and the longer it stayed open, the greater the urge he felt to look at it. Bit by bit, Sam lowered his gaze down the doctor's face until he could see the watch in his peripheral vision. His eyes were blurring up, but he could tell there wasn't a clock in there, but a purple glowing something. He lowered his gaze even further, but the watch snapped shut before his vision could clear. Immediately, Sam felt the oppressing, stifling sensation lift from his body.

"Alright!" Doctor Drake shouted. "Very good!" He peeled off his gloves and stuck them back into his pocket. "Now for the next part. Could you do me another favor?"

"What is it?"

"Sleep tight."

The doctor pressed a rag against his face. Sam struggled against it, but within a second, his mind went blank, and he passed out as the doctor took a syringe out of his toolbox.


	4. Chapters 7-8

Chapter Seven: Walls

During the last few weeks of school, Sam stopped studying textbooks. Instead, he snuck out every night he could, watching pokemon battles in Smiles' ring. His notes became even more detailed than ever before, noting everything from approximate temperature ranges of a houndour's ember attack to the pressure applied by a totodile's fangs. He studied the wing motions of birds and the strides of mammals, internalized the motion of eyes and reaction times, and his documentation of pokemon battle behaviors grew so violent he'd snap whole cases of pencils each night.

In the first week, his fervent observation earned him four thousand dollars. The hoodlums, so dismissive of a lone eevee, lost again and again to Luna's swift, brutal barrage of iron tail and shadow ball. But after that first week, the winnings tapered off. Fewer and fewer brawlers were willing to wager against him, and the few that were willing demanded thousands of dollars against their hundred. The fights grew more intense, first facing off against four pokemon in a row, then getting pitted against two at a time, but Luna's resolve never wavered, and she proved skilled in causing chaos within teams, darting behind pokemon and using them as shields, deflecting their blows into each other, and making them stumble into each other for a final, concrete-crushing shadow ball.

One night, after no one asked to challenge Sam, Smiles walked over to his lonely, dark corner and held out a pokeball.

"Nobody's gonna battle you if you don't expand your roster," Smiles said. "Why don't you try this guy out for size? It's a spunky little scraggy, and I think it'd be perfect for your fighting style."

"No thanks," Sam said as he scribbled into his notebook. "I appreciate the offer, but I'm only going to use Luna."

Smiles frowned and took back the pokeball. "Okay then, but let me know if you change your mind. The offer still stands."

Sam clenched his fist and mumbled, "I won't change my mind."

"What was that?"

"I said I'll think about it."

Sam watched him walk off. Just before he returned to his chair, Smiles spoke with the cop and handed her a beer. Sam returned to his attention to the fight, calculating the force a sentret could deliver with its tail, but moments later, a tap on his shoulder startled him. The cop, wearing her bunny mask with a short, airy yellow skirt that flashed her rear every time she walked, sat down next to him. Sam tried prying his eyes away from her, but he couldn't keep himself from eyeing her through his peripheral vision.

"C'mon kid, make me some more money," she said, raising a beer bottle to her lips. "When are you gonna get back in there?"

"When someone challenges me," Sam said.

The cop laughed, spitting a spray of beer in front of her. "Oh please, nobody likes losing money Sam, and you're the worst person here to bet against. Man, did I make a killing off of you, but at this rate, the money's gonna dry up. You should get some more pokemon, spice things up. Everything's more fun when you lose once in a while."

"I lost, once," Sam said. "It was on a school exam. I got a ninety-eight. He got a hundred. Ever since then, I studied harder than ever. I wanted to beat him so badly I could taste it. Test after test, I fell short of his perfect scores, until one day, I did beat him. And I still lost." Sam leaned back and said, "I'm sick of losing to him."

"So, is that why you don't want to use any other pokemon?" the cop asked. She took a swig and adjusted her mask. "You think there aren't any pokemon out there that couldn't beat your eevee into a bloody pulp in three seconds flat? Because I got news for you kid – this is still a kiddies' ring compared to Mr. Deltoro's. He's got pokemon in there that could flatten this city in a day, and if you ever want in, you'll need better pokemon."

"I don't want better pokemon," Sam said.

"Why not?"

Sam turned away and said, "I have my reasons."

The cop shrugged. "Well, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

Sam paused for a moment, and then he said, "I don't like hurting pokemon."

The cop howled with laughter. "You – you don't like hurting pokemon! Ha! That's a riot."

"What's so funny?"

"You say that after you pummeled a mightyena into hamburger with that iron tail of Luna's. That pokemon's probably dead by now because of you."

"I battle with Luna because she wants to. I won't force other pokemon to fight for me."

The cop stood up and stretched her arms. Sam glanced up her skirt and reddened. "Well, suit yourself kid. Oh, and who do you think I should bet on next round?"

"Hazard. His pawniard's too fast for that makuhita to get any hits in."

"Thanks! I'll give you a little info in exchange for that tip." She took a knee and leaned into his ear, caressing it with her lips. "Word is, Deltoro's sending in a scouter soon. Impress him, and you could get into Deltoro's ring and make serious cash."

"How serious?"

"Five times as much, easy. Maybe even ten." She raised the beer bottle to her lips, gave the empty, dry bottom a disdainful look, and tossed it aside. "But you'll need serious pokemon to get in there."

"Lucky won't take that long to evolve. Imagine how much stronger she'll be when she does."

"You could just use a fire stone."

"It'd be a waste. Espeon's so much stronger."

The cop tsked and asked, "Are you a masochist or something? You sure enjoy making everything harder for yourself."

"It's no fun when it's too easy."

"And yet you hate losing." She looked across the ring and said, "Well, the bets are about to close. Have fun staying in your little corner."

As Sam predicted, the cop won a few hundred dollars on her bet, and as she predicted, the next day, a gold-masked, muscular, dark-skinned man in a tight-fitting white t-shirt and black pants arrived at the ring. The crowd left a ten-foot ring around him. The only person to breach his personal space was one of Smiles' guards, who offered him a cooler of Don Julio and a shot glass rimmed with salt.

The scouter watched a string of matches without a word. All the brawlers threw out their best pokemon, pushing them to the edge of exhaustion for his attention, but he gave them and their pokemon a cursory glance before returning to his drink.

As the night came to a close, the scouter stood up. The crowd parted as he walked towards Smiles. Whispered in the ringmaster's ear and returned to his seat.

Smiles stood up and said, "Mr. Gold wishes to see a match between Axle and Feathers, one on one. The winner gets five thousand dollars and a fight against him."

Axle gritted his teeth as he called out his scyther. He told it to stay wary as Sam called out Luna.

"Agility!" Axle called. The scyther sprinted across the ring, becoming a green blur as it kicked up dust and papers with the wind its wings kicked up.

"Now cut!"

"Cross counter with iron tail," Sam called in response. Luna hardened her tail as the scyther's blade slashed her hind leg, and as the scythe passed her, Luna slammed her tail into its midsection. It doubled over, hacking and coughing as blood trickled out of its cracked exoskeleton.

"Again!" Sam ordered. Luna flung her tail at the scyther's head. It backed away and took a glancing blow on its chin.

"X-scissor!"

"Sand attack!"

The scyther dashed forward into a faceful of sand. It threw its scythes up, and Luna ducked underneath the attack.

"Now, shadow ball."

Luna had already prepared the shadows, and just as the scyther's bleeding torso passed overhead, she loosed her attack directly into its thorax. With a blinding flash, both Luna and the scyther flew back, but while Luna landed on her feet, the scyther landed on its back and didn't move.

Mr. Gold walked up to Sam, holding a thick stack of hundred dollar bills in his hand. "I'm a man of my word," he said, his voice muffled by his mask. "This is just a small taste of the kind of money you'll get if you work for Mr. Deltoro. But first, you have to beat me. One on one. Here, use this first."

Mr. Gold tossed Sam a super potion. Sam sprayed it onto Luna's cut leg, rubbing the liquid into the wound until it closed up.

"Ready when you are," Sam said. "Don't expect me to lose."

"I wouldn't be so cocky if I were you," Mr. Gold answered. "I came here with every intention of crushing you."

Mr. Gold threw his pokeball forward and called out his poliwrath. The amphibious pokemon's muscles bulged as it stared down Luna.

"Belly drum!" Mr. Gold shouted. The poliwrath pounded its gut, working itself into a frenzy with each slap. Its muscles twitched and flexed, hinting at earth-shattering power.

"Don't let it go on the offensive," Sam ordered. "Use swift, and follow up with a quick attack!"

Luna flung a volley of stars and raced into them, striking the poliwrath in the gut with both its stars and its own body. The poliwrath, however, took the impact and grabbed Luna by her legs.

"Vital throw!" The poliwrath flexed its arm back and hurled Luna towards the edge of the ring. As she skidded against the ground, Sam told her to use iron tail to stop herself. She made a long, deep furrow in the cement, kicking up gravel as she ground to a stop three inches from the line. Nicks and bruises covered Luna's body, and she had a deep purple ring around her left eye, stretching from the tip of her muzzle down to her neck.

"Now, shadow ball!"

"Hydro pump!"

The rush of water knocked Luna's attack aside and barreled towards her. Luna got her leg soaked by the torrent as she dodged to the side.

"Hydro pump, again!"

"Shadow ball, and this time spin it up in front of you!"

Another deluge hurtled towards Luna, but this time the shadow ball's spin deflected the water, soaking Sam and everyone standing behind him. Sam held up a hand and strained to see through the flood splashing in his eyes. The moment he sensed the water letting up, he shouted, "Let it rip!"

The shadow ball hurtled forward with the sound of a cannon, making it rain with all the water it kicked up. The shadow ball carved its way through the hydro pump and slammed into the poliwrath's belly. It gripped the shadow ball, but the sphere's spin forced the poliwrath's feet off the ground and flung it into the air. As the poliwrath tumbled above the buildings, Sam said, "Finish it off with another shadow ball!"

Luna trembled as she gathered shadows into a sphere. Though it wobbled and shook, the shadow ball stayed together as it slammed into the poliwrath's side. It tumbled down and hit the ground with a thunderous plop.

The crowd roared with cheering, and Sam felt his own heart lift. But Mr. Gold thrust his arm forward and said, "Get your revenge."

Within the space of an eyeblink, the poliwrath kicked off of the ground, hurtled towards Luna, and punched her chest hard enough to crack her ribs. She flew deep into the crowd and tumbled on top of an overflowing garbage can. The crowd fell silent as Sam pushed and shoved past them, sprinting towards Luna and spraying a potion on her chest. The potion knitted up the surface wounds, but it did nothing for the broken bones underneath.

Mr. Gold tapped him on the shoulder and held out a hyper potion. "Use this, kid. She took quite a beating, but I have to say, you did better than I thought. She'd be fantastic if you evolved her."

Sam sprayed Mr. Gold's potion onto Luna's chest and worked the liquid deep into her skin. He could feel the bones knitting themselves back together underneath his fingertips. "What does it matter? I lost."

Mr. Gold placed a hand on Sam's shoulder and leaned towards him. "Let me tell you something, Sam. Mr. Deltoro is very interested in getting fresh blood into his ring, especially one with such a gripping back story. A high schooler brawling against the best of the best for college money – that grabs the attention of people with very deep pockets. But there is no one more boring than someone who never loses and only uses one pokemon, and no one with any money's going to pay to see it. So, Sam, take this card."

Mr. Gold passed him a business card over his shoulder. In neat, elegant font, it gave the name, phone number, and address of a personal attorney closer to the west side of the city.

"Our rematch is in a week," Mr. Gold said. "He'll have you ready for it, if you're still interested."

Mr. Gold walked away and vanished into the nearest alley. After checking his pockets for the money he had earned, Sam walked in the opposite direction, holding the business card with one hand and cradling Luna with the other, staring into her calm, sleeping face. He grimaced at the faint trace of bruise left around her eye and rubbed more potion into the bruised skin. Her eyes drooped open, and she licked his hands.

"I'm sorry. You don't have to fight if you don't want to. I'll find some other way."

But as he walked down that alley, flipping through cancelled scholarship after cancelled scholarship, his grip tightened around the business card.

Chapter Eight: Business Meeting

Sam slipped out of his house the next day and followed the address on the business card to a neat, decorous slice of cityscape nestled within pothole-ridden streets and rundown buildings. Men in suits strode down the sidewalks, checking stock market values and managing their businesses during their commute. Sam kept close to the buildings, trying to hide in the canopy-made shade of business-front windows, until he reached his destination.

The lawyer's office was a small, quaint brick building, with a design that blended in with the taller buildings on its flanks. Sam walked up to the gleaming wooden door and rang the bell.

"Come in, it's open" a grainy voice said through the speaker.

Sam opened the door and walked inside. He took a seat in the waiting room's only chair and stared into the receptionist's room, a small cubicle walled off with glass panels. The receptionist, a tiny, bird-like woman with a petite set of glasses and long, bony fingers, clabbered and clanked her fingernails on her keyboard, furiously typing memos as she sipped coffee through a straw.

"He's ready to see you," she said. "Go on through the door."

Sam grasped the shining bronze door knob and gently opened the door. The lawyer's office dwarfed the reception area, lavishly furnished with a vibrant red Persian rug, matching curtains with gold tassels, a crystal chandelier with a gleaming iron chain, a deep, dark red wooden desk larger than most beds, wooden chairs with fluffy red satin cushions, a bookcase bulging with countless legal texts, and two paintings of old, somber men. The cherry-colored desk held two teetering towers of manila folders, a pidgeot feather quill pen with an inkwell made of tauros ivory, and a Yvenna law school diploma in a gold-plated picture frame. In the corner, half-covered by a loose curtain, was a door.

Behind the stacks sat a short, smiling man in a luxurious black suit. His blonde hair was trimmed short, with just enough length in the front to make his hairstyle appear higher. The lawyer's warm, brown eyes glowed at Sam from behind a pair of tinted glasses with shiny aluminum frames, and the man's nose, so crooked and misshapen that his glasses kept sliding from its perch, had a scar near the middle of the broken bridge in the shape of a nearly perfect pink square.

The lawyer got up from his chair and leaned over his desk, holding out his hand. Sam leaned in and shook his hand.

"Congratulations, you've got the job!"

Sam glanced around the room and looked at the business card again.

"Uh, thank you Mr. Ducall. This is quite a surprise for me, considering I'm not going into law."

"Yes, I know you don't have any law experience, but that's not important. What matters more to me is your experience with research. You know your way around stacks of documents, and that's exactly what I need. But first, could you review the job application you gave me and make sure everything is in order?"

Mr. Ducall handed him a sheet of paper. Filling every blank, from his name to his school transcript and club activities, were all of his personal information, written in penmanship so similar to his own that he wondered if he actually wrote it.

"Yep, looks good," Sam said blankly.

The lawyer took the transcript back and shoved it into a desk drawer. "So, starting today, you'll be organizing all of my past legal files. Sort them based on successful and failed defenses, types of cases, in chronological order, oh, and make sure to pull out anything older than ten years. Closet space ain't cheap. Speaking of closet space, let me show you where you'll be working."

Mr. Ducall led him to the door in the corner, brushed the curtain aside, and slid a key into the knob's lock. With a metallic cling, the door swung open, revealing a dark, cramped closet. Filing cabinets crowded every wall, some of them bursting with manila folders, and others so caked with cobwebs and dust that the coating could be rolled into little grey snowmen.

"Could you close the door please? I don't want any outside air to get in. The humidity's very bad for the documents."

Once Sam closed the door, Mr. Ducall pushed one of the filing cabinets aside, revealing a blank section of wall. He slid a panel aside, exposing a keyhole, and pressed a gleaming silver key inside. He twisted hard, and with a pop, the wall swung inward, exposing a wooden staircase that led downward. A faint scent of ammonia wafted up the stairs and into Sam's nose, making him sneeze.

"Come on, follow me," Mr. Ducall whispered. Sam expected the stairs to creak, but not a single one made even the slightest noise as they descended into the office's basement. At the bottom, lit by a chandelier that dwarfed the one upstairs, was a gleaming obsidian table, complemented by two jet-black chairs with self-adjusting gel cushions. The concrete walls had sound-dampening panels at even intervals, each one adorned with a different pokemon mosaic, and the floor had layer after layer of lavish Persian rug, each competing for space and yet complementing each other in color and texture to form an entrancing, colorful patchwork.

Sam took a seat on one side and felt the gel shift itself to his weight and posture. After a few seconds, he felt as though he were sinking into a cloud.

The lawyer sat at the opposite side of the table and slid a stack of documents towards him. "Sorry for putting you on the spot like that, Sam, my business card doesn't exactly have room for 'oh, by the way, pretend you're getting a job here and just follow my lead'." He brushed a speck of dust off his suit and said, "I'd normally just meet you down here, but for business' sake, we had to put on that charade. Nice acting, by the way, but considering your hobbies, I had a feeling you'd do fine."

Sam looked at the stack of papers the lawyer gave him. Most of them were bills, ranging from thousands to hundreds of thousands of dollars. There was a receipt from an outfit store, rental contracts for pokemon, receipts for Persian rugs, and five contract agreements for Mr. Ducall's legal services, along with a ticket into the Deltoro Casino Club, a platinum VIP pass for the same location, a map with a building circled in black ink, a photograph of a smiling, white-haired man with a long, jagged scar across both of his eyes, and a letter of acceptance for the position of administrative assistant.

"So, what's the deal?"

Mr. Ducall smiled. "Before I tell you that, let me ask you a question. Let's suppose you're an IRS agent, looking over the finances of a student that just paid his way through college with, legally speaking, appeared out of thin air. The student has one parent, whose job at a pottery shop couldn't front that money in fifty years, no wealthy relatives, no job, and minimal financial aid. Now, what would you do?"

Sam stared at the walls before saying, "I'd arrest him."

"You skipped a few steps, but that'd be the end result. A few bucks here and there won't go noticed, especially if it's cash, but hundreds of thousands doesn't just appear overnight. Anyone flashing that kind of cash without paying the government draws a lot of attention."

"So I need you to make it look like I got my money legally."

The lawyer nodded and said, "That's one of many services I'll be providing you. The 'job' you have with me will supply twenty grand over the summer. The rest, well, let's just say that Mr. Deltoro is making a massive donation to a pokemon research institute, in exchange for a few presents. Mr. Deltoro could slide a few hundred grand extra into that donation, and in return, said institute funds your education and hires you on."

"It's not the Oak Institute, is it?" Sam asked.

"The Oaks? I can't say names, but the Oaks are too squeaky clean for that business. Let's just leave it at that. But we're getting away from the point. Point is, you supply the money and I'll worry about the legal stuff."

Sam shuffled through the papers again. "And this is going to cost me… six hundred grand?"

"Nine hundred, actually. The three-hundred grand's for the research institute I mentioned. You'll see most of that money back. The rest is to cover my legal expenses, the VIP Pass for the Deltoro Casino, contracting pokemon for your next fight, and other miscellaneous purchases you'll need."

Sam stood up and said, "But–"

"Cool your jets, kid," Mr. Ducall interrupted, "Follow my instructions and you'll make that money and then some well before school starts. You'd get ten grand for entering a match, and thirty more for winning. Win half of fifty matches, and you're set."

"Alright. What are your instructions?"

"First, pick up your outfit from the store I circled on the map. Tell him you're Feathers, and he'll take care of you. Second, come here right after school every day. You'll need all the training you can get before you fight Gold again. And third, this is really important Sam, you have to expand your roster."

"I don't want to."

"I heard. But you have to."

"I already put Lu – Lucky through too much."

"Luna won't be enough, Sam. You need better pokemon. At least hear me out before you walk away. I couldn't get anything that good for a nobody like you, but I was able to get my hands on a high-quality item I think you'll like. Come and see."

Mr. Ducall helped Sam out of the chair and escorted him to a cracked wooden door at the end of a long hallway. Mr. Ducall opened the door, flicked the light on, and said "Ta-Da!"


	5. Chapters 9-10

Chapter Nine: Contract

As the single lightbulb buzzed on, filling the bare concrete room with erratic, flickering light, Sam lowered his eyes away from the harsh light. He saw the floor, strewn with damp newspapers, and a bowl of walnuts in the back corner. Then his eyes adjusted, and he raised them to the pidgeot standing on a short, squat wooden perch.

The pidgeot's feathers were light gray from all the dust caked into them, and they stuck out at odd angles. Its crest feathers bent at odd angles, and its eyes dully glared at them both as they entered the room. Once the door closed, the pidgeot hissed like a cracked boiler.

"Isn't it beautiful?" Mr. Ducall asked. "Its name's Cloud."

"He's underfed and really needs grooming," Sam remarked.

"I've been trying to feed it, but it won't touch anything I give it."

Sam picked up the bowl of walnuts, examined one in his fingers, and nibbled at it. He spat the stale nut pieces back in the bowl. "Have you tried feeding it anything other than nuts?"

"Yeah, I tried fruits, berries, caterpie, things birds would eat."

"Call up Rick's and have them deliver a meatball special with no sauce," Sam told the lawyer. "Pidgeot are carnivores. They want meat, not bugs and berries."

"And what, you'll think it'll eat a meatball sub?"

"Yes."

The lawyer took out his cell phone, muttered about bad reception, and walked upstairs, leaving Sam alone with Cloud. He took a step towards the pidgeot, but he stopped when Cloud hissed at him. Sam took out his tablet, opened up a file labeled "Pidgeot", and glossed through his notes. Then he turned around, sat down, and tilted his head back. Flicking his tongue on the roof of his mouth, he made a sharp clicking noise. The pidgeot clicked its own beak in response, hopped off the perch, and cautiously stepped towards Sam. Cloud buried his beak in Sam's hair, pinched a few strands, and gently pulled them, tossing any pulled hairs to the side.

After ten minutes of preening, Cloud turned around and clicked his beak at Sam.

"I won't be able to do you with your feathers that dusty," Sam said. "Let's see if there's a bath down here."

Sam wandered around the lawyer's basement, leaning against each door and listening for voices before opening them. He found a billiard room, a poker table, and a gym area with a treadmill before finding a bathroom. Along with a granite sink and a polished porcelain toilet, the bathroom also had a spacious shower and a Jacuzzi tub large enough for six people.

"Here we are. Hop in the shower and I'll get you rinsed off."

Sam slid the glass door aside for the pidgeot and checked the shower head. It came detached from the wall, with a smooth, flexible, shiny hose trailing behind it. Sam turned on the water, waited for it to warm up, and sprayed it into Cloud's feathers. The water turned murky gray as it trickled out of the pidgeot's feathers, leaving behind a dusty residue on the shower floor. After five minutes, the water turned a lighter, clearer shade and carried most of the grime down the drain.

Sam guided Cloud to the Jacuzzi, perched him on the rim, and turned the water on. Cloud waited for the water to surge halfway to the top before hopping in, slapping his wings into the water and rustling his whole body in the currents. Water splashed up into the ceiling as Cloud thoroughly soaked every feather on his body. The tail feathers regained their vivid red hue, and its body feathers turned a pale creamed coffee color. Its eyes, though they still lacked luster, regarded Sam with curiosity.

Sam drained the tub, and Cloud shook himself dry, soaking Sam and the whole bathroom. Sam looked around at the gray-spattered tiles and said, "Let's use a towel next time, alright Cloud?"

Cloud chirped and clicked his beak. Then he turned around and titled his head back. Sam buried his fingers into the pidgeot's light, fluffy neck feathers and tugged gently, pulling out fingerfuls of loose, molted feathers. By the time he had finished with Cloud's back, he had a pile of feathers large enough to fill a coffee mug.

"It's been a while since you've been properly cleaned, hasn't it?" Sam looked at the time on his tablet. "Alright, food should be here in a minute. But before that, I want to ask you something."

The pidgeot craned his head towards Sam.

"Do you want to fight? I don't want to use any pokemon that don't want it."

Cloud stepped back and looked away from him.

"I get it. I'll tell Mr. Ducall that I won't use you. I'll find another way. I – I will. Now, let's see if your dinner's here."

Sam walked back into the basement. Mr. Ducall was looking around for him, holding a greasy paper bag that bulged outward, with tiny rips forming along the folds.

"Good, there you are, and what the heck were you doing in the bathroom – oh no, you didn't. You didn't take it in there, did you?"

Cloud nudged the door open and walked out, shoving his head under Sam's hand. Mr. Ducall set the bag down and held his hand against his head.

"Shit, I needed that tonight. You're paying for the cleaning bill."

"Cloud needed cleaning, so I cleaned him. You should've had grooming supplies on hand."

"Kid, I'm a lawyer, not a pokemon professor. Now, feed it while I call the cleaners. And watch your fingers, that thing has a habit of snapping at them."

Sam reached into the bag, nudged aside the greasy wrappings, and pulled out a handful of plump, juicy, steaming meatballs. He picked out bits of onion from its surface and held them towards Cloud.

"Hungry?"

Cloud waddled over to him, slowly craned his neck forward, and gently plucked the meatball with the tip of his beak. Then he tipped his head back and let the meat slide down his throat. Sam took another meatball out, and another, until the bag was empty. Cloud gave a satisfied chortle as it ruffled its feathers and stretched its wings.

"Damn kid, you're good. I haven't even been able to get within arm's length of that monster without it trying to peck my eyes out."

"I'm not going to use Cloud."

"Wait, what? Well, I know Cloud's in rough shape and has the temper of the two women I cheated on, but this is the best you're going to get, which means this is the only chance you'll have against Gold."

"No, that's not it." Sam stroked Cloud's crest feathers and said, "I'm not going to make a pokemon fight if it doesn't want to."

Mr. Ducall sighed and looked up at the ceiling. He muttered to himself, shaking his head after a string of points, and after finding one he liked, he looked at Sam and said, "Let's put it this way. You don't want Cloud to suffer, right?"

"Right."

"So, what do you think will happen to Cloud once it returns to its owner? Do you think some millionaire's going to care about what, to him, is a defective piece of merchandise?"

Sam looked down and said, "No."

"What do you think such a person would do with a useless pokemon? Lock it away, throw it out, or maybe even kill it – that's what'll happen."

"You're saying I should take Cloud so that doesn't happen."

"Exactly. You spent half an hour with Cloud, and it already likes you. Don't you think it'd be happier with you, even if it meant fighting?"

Sam looked at Cloud, peering into his dim, yellow eyes. Cracks and chips marred Cloud's beak, and his nostrils were clogged with mucus.

"Give me a moment," Sam said. He nudged Cloud into his closet, turned on the light, and closed the door. Cloud hopped onto his perch, and Sam walked up to him.

"Listen, Cloud. I know you don't want to fight. But if you don't fight for me, I can't keep you. You'll go back to whoever had you last, to being kept in stuffy closets and fed stale walnuts. I – I can't go any farther with just Luna. I can't be a pokemon professor with just Luna. I can't win with just Luna." Sam placed his hand against the pidgeot's beak. He leaned away from the touch, but he didn't move from his perch. "That's why I need you. So, you help me out, and I'll take good care of you. I'll clean your feathers and feed you real meat, not just the processed crap from Rick's. Do we have a deal?"

Cloud stared at the outstretched hand hovering inches away from his face. He softly clicked his beak and licked at the meat juices on it. Then he closed his eyes and leaned into Sam's hand.

"Thanks Cloud." Sam walked out the door and sat at the table. Mr. Ducall flipped through a stack of papers and said, "Well?"

"I'll do it."

"Just what I wanted to hear. Now, in the closet behind you, I have your new costume. Try it on, see how it fits."

Sam opened the door next to the staircase. On the left hung four suits, each identical in cut but with a different color: charcoal gray, black, blue and white. On the right hung a bulky package of crumpled black plastic. Sam peeled off the plastic and revealed a sleek, pitch black, feathered jacket and a matching set of jeans. Sam ran his hands over the jacket, and to his surprise, the feathers felt springy and alive, as though he were petting a honchkrow. He tried it on, expecting the jacket to cling and catch with each movement, but the feathers bent with his jacket, and despite the generous coating of plumage, the jacket felt as light as a t-shirt. He pulled on the pants, gloves and boots, marveling at how the fabric fit like a second skin.

On top of the hangar rested a mask, meticulously sculpted and covered with tiny facial feathers. A thin, smooth beak protruded from the mask, and the eyes were jet-black, covered with cloth.

"So," Mr. Ducall said, "Once you're ready, sign the contract on top of your pile, and I'll show you to your training room. We do have a deal, right?"

Sam put on the mask. Each curve inside it fit to his own face, staying steady as he changed his facial expressions without getting hot and stuffy with each breath. The beak channeled each breath out the nostrils in the mask and replenished his air with a cool, dry stream from below. He could also see perfectly through the cloth; even his peripheral vision worked within the mask thanks to the form-fitting design.

"Yes. We have a deal." Sam's voice was distorted by the mask, made dark and ragged by the intricate tunnels carved into the beak.

Sam walked up to the table, took the red fountain pen, and signed the contract. He couldn't help but think that the ink looked like blood, but all the same, he took the papers and followed Mr. Ducall to his new training site.

Chapter Ten: Tasteless

When Sam told his mother that he got a job, he thought his spine was going to snap from the hug she gave him.

"Oh, that's wonderful! And you say this might open up scholarship opportunities?" she asked.

"Yeah, Mr. Ducall's well connected and he wants to help."

"Oh my gosh! Oh, I'm so proud of you! I know! We should make curry at the end of the school year, to celebrate your new job and your graduation! How's that sound?"

Sam's mouth watered at the thought of curry. "That'd be awesome!"

During the final week of school, Sam beamed at the thought of having curry, but each time he saw Brandon, a knot formed in his gut. He slunk through hallways and ate at the far corner of the cafeteria, avoiding Brandon's presence. He kept quiet during classes, and through the final drama meeting before the summer, he kept his mask on and avoided everyone's eyes. After the rest of the drama club cleared out, Emily stopped him before the classroom's doorway.

"I – I heard about what happened," Emily said. Sam flinched and tried to speak, but his tongue wouldn't move.

"I'm sorry you had such a bad fight with Brandon, but could you, maybe, try to act like everything's alright? You really have everyone else worried."

Sam's shoulders relaxed, and his heart slowed. "Oh, that. Uh, sorry, I guess I've been distracted lately. I'll try my best." He gave her a huge smile, and she laughed.

"That's the Sam I know! Now, let's see if you can put that acting talent to use in our summer play!"

"If we ever get around to having one," Sam said with a chuckle. "I swear, we've never had so many problems with production."

"Well, there's a lot of seniors this time, and we want it done right. Of course we have wildly unrealistic expectations. We'll have to wait until the last minute, when we have to rush everything and it'll turn out like crap, before we can get everyone to agree on anything."

"At least the budget's bigger this year."

"Yeah, true. And uh, I hope whatever's going on… goes alright. Just, just stay positive."

Sam looked down at his tablet. "I should go."

"Oh, right. Take care Sam, and if you think of any good ideas, call me."

Sam sprinted home after the drama meeting, and by the time he made it home, he was out of breath and his legs were shaking.

His mother laughed as Sam collapsed onto a chair. "Ready to go?" she asked.

"I, yeah, just let me get to the car."

After Sam limped into the passenger seat, they drove to the store and strolled into the vegetable aisle. Bright, juicy red tomatoes and sleek green peppers sat in wooden crates next to tamato and oran berries. Sam picked out handfuls of tamato berries, tomatoes, potatoes, onions, and cheri berries while his mother bought the chicken and flatbread. He checked each berry and vegetable for blemishes, squeezed them to check their freshness, and carefully sniffed each one before placing them in the cart.

Then he ran into the pokemon aisle and picked out a new chew toy for Luna. He also found a cuttlebone for Cloud, but he stopped halfway down the aisle when he thought of trying to explain it to his mother. He thought about taking it anyways and sneaking it out of the store, but the thought of getting caught with it made him put the cuttlebone back with a shudder.

"You got everything you want, Sam?"

"Yeah mom. What about the olive oil?"

"I have it at home."

"The rice?"

"That too. Ready to get cooking?"

Through the afternoon, the aroma of chicken cooking in a simmering concoction of oils and spices tickled Sam's nose. He spent the long wait grooming Luna's fur while she gnawed on her new chew toy. Once in a while, he saw sparks coursing through her hair.

"Looks like you'll evolve soon, maybe in time for the match."

With that thought, his appetite left him. He buried his face into Luna's fur and held back tears.

"God damn it, what the hell am I doing?" Sam murmured. "If I was smart, I'd call this whole thing off and take the money. All I'd have to do is ask."

Sam imagined himself going over to Brandon's house, passing through the large wrought-iron gate, knocking on the thick oaken doors, watching them slowly creak open and reveal Brandon's face, cast in shadows by an enormous crystal chandelier in the parlor. The very thought of taking the money from his hands made Sam's hands shake, yanking out a few of Luna's hairs. She yelped and bit down hard enough on her toy to split it in two.

"Oops, sorry Luna. My hand slipped."

Luna flicked her tail in his face and leapt off his lap. His cheek stung where her hairs whipped him.

"Hey, I said I was sorry! I'll get you some curry to make up for it, sound good?"

Luna leapt up and down, yelping at the ceiling. Sam wrapped his arms around her and pressed her against his cheek.

"I'm really sorry Luna, about everything. It isn't fair."

Sam took a deep breath, breathing in the faint cinnamon scent of Luna's fur. Then he said, "None of it's fair, but I still won't lose. Not to him, not to anyone, not again."

"Sam, sweetheart," his mother's voice called from downstairs. It seemed so faint and distant through his door. "Curry's ready!"

"Coming mom!" he shouted back. Sam flung the door open, tipping a plant in the process. Luna rushed over to hold it while Sam dashed down the stairs. He sprinted to the table and whipped around into his chair. A huge, steaming plate of chicken curry, poured over a bed of white rice steamed with jasmine oil and cilantro, rested on the table in front of him, pouring out spicy, succulent steam like a culinary geyser. His appetite returned in a flash, and without waiting for it to cool, he spooned up a huge, dripping mouthful of sauce, rice, and chicken, and crammed it into his mouth.

The moment he started chewing, he knew his sense of taste was off. Even with all the spice and all the savory oil, he could barely taste any of it, and the wonderful aromas of the food were replaced with a faint scent of ashes.

"Is something wrong Sam?" His mother asked.

Sam looked at her, then at the plate, then back at her. Half of her curry was already gone, along with her share of the flatbread. He licked some sauce off of his tongue and forced a smile onto his face.

"No mom, everything's great!"

He took an even larger scoop of curry and mashed it between his teeth before shoving it down his throat. Each bite he took was larger than the last, and yet, no matter how much sauce he drizzled over everything he ate, he still couldn't taste it.

When his mother wasn't looking, Sam scooped the rest of his curry onto a bunch of napkins, wrapped it up, and stuffed it in his pocket. Then he took his bowl over to the sink, washed it, and stuck it back in the drawer.

"It was awesome, thanks mom!"

"Oh, you're welcome!" His mother rose and hugged him. Sam shifted his stance slightly so she wouldn't crush the curry. "I'm so proud of you Sam, never giving up no matter how hard things get. Way to go!"

A cold draft blew across Sam's neck, but when he looked behind himself, all the doors and windows were closed His stomach felt bloated and heavy, and he suddenly felt exhausted.

"Thanks mom. I think I'll just… go to bed now."

"Oh, tired?" Mrs. Milone glanced outside at the setting sun. "Get some rest so you'll be ready for your new job. I can't believe you're all grown up now! Oh, I'm so proud of you."

Sam thanked her and walked upstairs. He closed the door and pulled all the curtains shut before he collapsed onto the bed. Luna leapt next to him and pressed her muzzle into her pocket.

"Oh right, the curry. Sorry, almost forgot about it." He unwrapped the napkins and placed the curry in her bowl. She scarfed it all down in seconds and plopped down into her bed.

"God damn, I am so stupid," Sam said. "I have to stop, now, before I get any more in debt than I already am. I should call Brandon in the morning and forget all about this."

Sam stared up at the ceiling, and his heart sank as he remembered all the fees, and the signature he himself wrote.

"It's too late." He tried to cry, but the tears wouldn't come. "There's no hope now. I'm going to be a hundred grand in debt to a crime lord, and then what?"

Luna's ears perked up, and she looked at him. Then she hopped onto the bed and licked his face.

Sam ruffled her hair and said, "Thanks, Luna, but there's nothing we can do, not against that poliwrath. Even Cloud won't be enough."

Luna's fur glowed, lighting up the room with brilliant white light. Sam turned his head and covered his eyes from the stinging light, watching from tiny cracks between his fingers as Luna's body lengthened, her ears grew pointy and narrow, and amber rings formed in her fur.

Sam wiped tears from his eyes and hugged his new umbreon.

"Thanks Luna. I'm sorry I gave up on you."

Luna gave a low, long growl in response. Sam smiled and imagined all the new tactics he could try, but then he remembered poliwrath's strengths, and his smile vanished.

"God damn it, Luna, you just had to evolve at night, didn't you?" But then he smiled and said, "Fuck it. You're not giving up, so I won't either. We'll win no matter what."

Sam thought about showing his mother, but the blankets felt too heavy, and before he realized it, his eyes closed and he fell fast asleep with Luna in his arms.


	6. Chapters 11-12

Chapter Eleven: Pressure

Sam put on his nicest clothes and walked to Mr. Ducall's building. He gave a quick wave to the receptionist, walked into the lawyer's office, and took the hidden staircase down to the basement. Mr. Ducall was waiting for him, sipping a glass of wine and eating a platter of sushi.

"You're late," Mr. Ducall said after he drained his wine in one swallow. Sam threw off his dress shirt and sat down at the table. Then Mr. Ducall slid the sushi across the table and said, "Want some? I'm not that hungry."

Sam plucked the fish off of the plate and ate the mounds of rice. Then he took the handful of raw fish over to Cloud's room. The pidgeot's crown feathers had healed, reaching towards the ceiling in brilliant shades of red and white. His beak had been polished smooth, and his talons were keenly honed.

Sam held out the fish. Cloud hopped off his perch and flapped over to Sam, then he slid his beak into Sam's hand, scooped up the fish, and swallowed the mound whole.

"Way to ruin such perfect sushi," Mr. Ducall said from the other room. "That stuff cost a lot of money."

"Add it to my tab." Sam wiped bits of fish off of Cloud's beak and asked, "The battle's at seven, right?"

"Yep. Make sure you're ready for it; you only have one chance at this, and if you lose, well, you'll be a hundred grand in the hole."

A cold shiver ran down Sam's spine, and he felt sweat trickle down his back, but he kept his voice even. "I won't lose."

"That's the spirit kid. So, you good with rice, or do you want something more filling? It's on me today."

"Nah, I shouldn't eat much."

"Why, too nervous? You should be kid – that eevee's not going to get you anywhere. Here, take one of these." Mr. Ducall pulled three stones out of his pocket – one softly glowing blue, one flickering red, and one that gleamed yellow. He set them down on a napkin and slid them towards Sam.

"Take your pick," Mr. Ducall said, "but if I were you, I'd take the thunderstone. It'd give you an edge over that poliwrath."

"I don't need it anymore." Sam called Luna onto the table, and she brushed aside the stones with a swipe of her black paw.

"Oho! Hot damn! Kid, I take it all back, you're a genius! So, what moves does she know? Dark pulse? Psychic?"

"Uh… I don't know. She just evolved last night."

"What? And you expect to go up against a poliwrath today?"

"Moves take weeks to practice. Heck, it took Luna a year to learn shadow ball. We'll just have to wing it and see what works."

The lawyer hung his head and wiped some soy sauce off his cheek. "I suppose we'd be in the same boat with an evolution stone, huh? Oh well, Cloud should still do the trick. Here, take this."

The lawyer slid Cloud's pokeball across the table. "Make sure to give that back to me once the battle's over."

"You're not going to watch?"

"I've got business meetings, kid. Believe it or not, I actually run a legitimate business upstairs." Mr. Ducall glanced at his watch and said, "Speaking of which, I've got the meeting right now. Good luck!"

Mr. Ducall sprinted up the stairs. Sam took out his tablet and read through his files on umbreon, focusing on combat behavior. He glossed over spectroscopic measurements of dark pulse and instead focused on the flash patterns of umbreon's rings – which frequencies induced sleep, or confusion, or caused eye irritation.

"Well, you won't be able to do anything fancy, but could you try flash? Just make your rings shine as brightly as you can."

Luna closed her eyes and spread out her legs. The rings on her fur flickered, but their light was drowned out by the chandelier.

"It's a start," Sam said flatly. He looked around the room and tapped his foot. He rolled Cloud's pokeball from one hand to another before he stood up.

"I don't feel like waiting here, do you?"

Luna shook her head. Sam called her back into her pokeball, then he walked over to Cloud's room and returned him. Then he put on his costume, admiring each intricately, crafted piece before he put it on. He walked down a set of underground hallways, twisted open a steel door leading into a network of maintenance tunnels, and trekked through the city's underbelly until he came upon another door. This one creaked and groaned as its rusty hinges twisted, and a blast of fresh air blew back the feathers on his mask as he opened the door.

A short stone staircase, cracked and slick with moisture, led to the interior of an old warehouse. The whole building was cleared out, exposing chipped concrete, rusted steel beams, and dented corrugated steel walls. A neat, bright white circle was painted on the floor, along with a trainer box at two ends.

Mr. Gold was already there, crouching in front of his poliwrath. He had a glittering object suspended from a chain in his hand, but Sam couldn't see it clearly.

"Hello there," Sam called. "I didn't expect to see you here so early."

Mr. Gold quickly shoved the object into a pocket and turned around. "Feathers! I didn't think you'd be here so early either. Nervous?"

"Are you ready now, or should we wait? I don't feel like waiting anymore."

Mr. Gold returned his poliwrath to its pokeball. "The referee isn't here, but there's security cameras all over the building. Wouldn't hurt to start now."

"So, will you send out the first or will I?"

Mr. Gold answered by throwing out a pokeball. It cracked open, and a magneton emerged from the blast of red light.

"Don't think you can win this with just your pidgeot, Feathers."

"I wasn't planning to." Sam threw his own pokeball and called out Luna. Mr. Gold whistled as Luna growled at her opponent.

"Wow, didn't expect to see an umbreon. This'll be fun! Magneton, use electric terrain!"

"Feet together Luna!"

Luna scrunched up her legs as electricity crackled through the floors and walls. She flinched when the charge reached her feet, but the electricity gently charged her along with the surroundings.

"Don't give them time, use shadow ball!"

Luna's shadow ball shot through the air, sending back a gust of wind that made Sam lean back. The magneton darted aside, but the shadow ball clipped one of its magnets, making it spin into a girder.

"Now, double kick!" Luna raced forward and slammed her paws into the magneton's back, bending the girder as she shoved the magneton into it. She backed away, and the magneton pulled itself out of the metal.

"Thunderbolt!"

"Block with sand attack!"

Luna kicked up tiny chips of concrete. As the surge of lightning crackled through them, the charge within the sand attack made the electricity veer off course and surge into the concrete, gouging out a long hollow in the floor.

"Now, use swift up top!" A wave of stars slammed into the magneton from above, slamming it into the ground. Sam had Luna follow it up with a double kick, driving the magneton deeper and deeper into the concrete with each blow. When she was done, the magneton's eyes turned dull gray, and it didn't move from the magneton-shaped hole.

"Not bad," Mr. Gold said as he called back his magneton, "But the hard part's just started. Would you like to switch out your umbreon?"

Sam nodded and held out Luna's pokeball. After she vanished into it, he summoned Cloud. He was about to land when Sam remembered the charged floor.

"Stay in the air," Sam told his pidgeot. "The floor will shock you if you touch it." Cloud chirped at him and flapped his wings harder, straining to stay aloft.

Mr. Gold held out his pokeball and pointed it towards the ceiling, calling out his poliwrath in midair. "Rain dance, go!"

As the poliwrath fell, it twirled, forming clouds in its fingertips. By the time it hit the ground, the ground was thoroughly soaked, leaching all the charge out of it. Sam had Cloud land and back away from the poliwrath.

"Air slash, and don't let up!" Cloud flapped his wings, using the pinions at his wingtips to slice through the air. The jagged wind currents slashed at the poliwrath's skin as it held its arms forward, protecting its eyes and taking the brunt of the attack.

"Watch for the counter!" Sam warned Cloud. A few slashes later, Mr. Gold shouted "Revenge!" and the poliwrath dashed forward. Cloud leapt up, splashing water into the poliwrath's eyes as it took off, but the poliwrath still landed a solid blow at Cloud's right foot. It drooped at an odd angle as Cloud flew up into the rafters.

"Hey Cloud, do you still want to fight?" Sam called up. The pidgeot screeched and faced the poliwrath.

"Alright then. Air slash!"

"Hydro pump!"

The air parted some of the deluge, but the air current was overwhelmed by water, and Cloud narrowly avoided the water gushing at him. Another blast followed his path through the air, denting the sheet metal on the roof. Cloud doubled back to throw off the attack, but he got a wingtip caught in the flood, and his wing was knocked off course. As he tumbled through the air, the poliwrath leapt, forming ice crystals around its hands.

"Quick, feather dance!" With a solid punch, the poliwrath slammed Cloud into a rafter, but Cloud flung feathers at the poliwrath, coating its hands and belly in a soft down coating. Cloud landed with a muffled thump, and Sam called it back while the poliwrath struggled to clean its hands.

"Not bad," Mr. Gold said, "But not good enough. This match is nearly over."

"I'm not going to lose, not again! Luna, hit it hard and fast with a tackle!"

Sam threw his pokeball forward, and Luna sprinted out of her pokeball, slamming into the poliwrath's left leg. Then she bit into the back of the poliwrath's leg, drawing blood from its calf muscles. It swatted at her, but its down-covered arms couldn't shake her off.

"Now, back off with a swift attack! Then build up speed, and hit it with everything you've got!"

Luna backpedaled and fired off star after star at the poliwrath's back. Then as it turned, firing off a deluge, Luna ran around the room, at first barely staying ahead of the water but then taking off, becoming a black blur as she barreled towards the poliwrath. She tackled the left leg, splashing blood across the floor, over and over, forcing the poliwrath down onto a knee.

"Now, double kick to the head!"

"Vital throw!"

Luna landed in a solid hit between the eyes, but the poliwrath grabbed her hind leg. As it stood, Sam blurted out the first order he could think of.

"Flash!"

Luna closed her eyes, and the rings in her fur sparked to life, slowly at first, but then unleashing a blinding burst of light as the poliwrath raised its arm. A ring flashed right in its eyes, making the poliwrath let go and cover its face.

"Now, shadow ball!"

Luna's rings, still shining brightly, made the shadows behind the poliwrath even darker. They rushed towards Luna, forming a sphere larger than herself and dark enough to swallow up the light around it, surrounding itself in a flickering dark nimbus. The poliwrath regained its sight and raised its arms to block, but the shadow ball knocked its arms back, slamming into its chest and flinging it into a steel girder. The roof groaned and shuddered as the girder buckled, and a metal plate tumbled from the ceiling onto the ground.

Sam waited a moment for the poliwrath to rise, but it lay still. After a few seconds, Sam pumped his fist and shouted "Yatta! We did it!"

"Congrats," Mr. Gold said. "You made it to the big leagues kid. Here, catch."

Mr. Gold flicked a card across the room. It smacked Sam in the mask, and he reflexively caught it. He held the card up to the eye holes and saw a picture of his costume printed on the card, along with his name and a chip at the end.

"That's everything you need to brawl in Deltoro's Dungeon. Your first match is next Monday. But before that, we have to finish our match."

Mr. Gold snapped his fingers, and the poliwrath's eyes snapped open.

"Get up," he ordered. The poliwrath bent the girder as it pulled itself up. Its muscles bulged, and veins popped out of its arms.

"Get back and use swift!" Sam shouted.

Star after star slammed into the poliwrath's chest, but it kept running at Luna, throwing massive punches each time it got close. Each punch chipped concrete and bent steel, making the warehouse creak and groan. Three tiles tumbled from the ceiling, casting tumbling shadows all over the warehouse, Sam had an idea.

"Flash!" Sam ordered.

The poliwrath covered its eyes as the warehouse filled with a burst of light cut by long, dark shadows formed by the fallen ceiling tiles.

"Now, shadow ball!"

The poliwrath ran towards her, arm held back, as Luna charged an enormous shadow ball. As the poliwrath threw a punch, Luna fired the shadow ball. The dark, intense energy surged up the poliwrath's arm, searing its skin and grinding its bones to dust, before it halted at the shoulder. The poliwrath backed away, its arm a tangled mess of burned sinew and bone shards.

"Rain dance," Mr. Gold said. The poliwrath waved one hand, and a typhoon raged in the rafters, drenching the battlefield. As rain soaked the poliwrath's charred arm, it started to heal, fusing bone and knitting muscle before Sam's eyes. Within seconds, no trace of Luna's attacks remained.

"Now, revenge."

Before Sam could react, Luna was flung across the concrete floor, skipping off of its slick surface, before slamming against the metal walls in the back. Blood stained the water red where she landed and pooled at Luna's chest. Three of her legs were crumpled into themselves, and one eye burst open, gushing blood across her face.

Mr. Gold ran across the arena, holding out a boxy green potion Sam didn't recognize. "You better use this," he said, "Hurry!"

Sam ran over to Luna's side and sprayed the potion all over her. Within seconds, every trace of her wounds was gone, and even the liquefied eye reformed itself. Luna stood up on shaky legs and leaned against Sam. He could feel her shaking.

Mr. Gold placed a hand on Sam's shoulder and said, "Take this too, for Cloud." He dropped a hyper potion at Sam's side, and then he called back his poliwrath and walked away. "See you Monday," he called as he left the warehouse.

Sam picked up Luna and walked over to the door. He stroked the short, stringy fur on Luna's face, and then he looked at the damp, crumbling, dented warehouse, and at all the blood that coated the floor.

"Yeah, see you Monday," Sam said.

Chapter 12: Sharing Advice

Sam sat on his bed and examined Luna's left eye. No matter how closely he looked, he couldn't find any scars.

Sam stroked her ears and asked, "Are you really sure you want to keep going?"

Luna blinked at him and nodded. Then she yawned, stretched out her whole body, and settled her head into his lap.

Sam looked at his clock, and then he sighed and fell back on his bed. "Screw it, wanna get some tea?"

Sam took a handful of dollars out of the shoebox and walked downtown to the Checkered Café. He took his usual spot, and Luna hopped up on the seat across from him.

The waitress walked over and patted Luna's head. "Oh wow, you finally got her to evolve!"

"Yeah," Sam said, "Just happened a few days ago."

"How wonderful! I'll go get you some tea."

Sam put a few dollars on the table when he got his piping hot mug, and a few more when the waitress set a berry cake in front of Luna.

While they were eating, Luna caught the attention of a trench coat-wearing man at the other end of the café. He walked over, coffee mug in one hand and newspaper in the other, and set his mug on Sam's table.

"I hope you don't mind, I have a friend that really loves Umbreon and I would like to get a picture."

"Oh, of course!" Luna leapt across the table to Sam's side, and the man pulled out a cell phone. After he snapped a few pictures, he sat down in Luna's spot and unfurled his newspaper.

"Thanks a ton. I just sent it over to him. So, which breeder did you get her from?"

"Lasley's. Got her when she was a pup."

"So you got her to evolve yourself? Impressive. Are you thinking of becoming a breeder?"

"No, a pokemon researcher. I got accepted into Yvenna."

"Congrats. How about a coffee on me then?"

"No thanks, I don't do coffee."

"Then I'll get you a refill." He raised his head and shouted, "Miss, I'll get this young man a refill – put it on my tab. Oh, and another coffee please."

"Right away Officer!" the waitress shouted back.

Sam flinched when he heard the word officer. His neck grew clammy, and he had to tell himself not to rub it. "So, you're a police officer?"

"Yeah." The officer raised his mug to his lips and drank all the coffee. "In all honesty, it's a hard job and doesn't pay well, but it's what I do best."

"What exactly do you do?"

"I catch criminals – mostly drug runners, thieves, and brawlers. I haven't had much work lately, though, so I'm stuck on patrols."

The waitress returned, pouring the officer another cup of coffee. He didn't take cream or sugar, nor did the waitress ask if he wanted any. Then she poured Sam a cup of tea and handed him a honey stick. Sam cracked the stick open and passed it to Luna, who purred and rubbed her back on the chair as she lapped up the honey.

"I didn't introduce myself, did I?" the officer asked. "Bad habit of mine." He held out his hand and said, "I'm Officer Baylor, but you can call me Alex."

Sam hesitantly took his hand and shook it. "Sam Milone," he said.

"Sam? Good to meet you. You don't mind me sitting here, do you?"

"Oh, uh, no, not at all."

"Good, because I was hoping you could help me with something."

Sam's stomach churned. "What is it?" His eyes darted across the room as he thought of all the ominous things the officer could possibly say and every response he could come up with for those scenarios.

"I've got an arcanine. I just evolved him recently, and since then, he's been nothing but trouble. He ripped up my couch, sets my newspapers on fire, and chased away my mailman. Do you have any tips?"

Sam relaxed into his chair and smiled. "Oh, give me a second." He took out his tablet and opened up the files he had on arcanine. He glossed through the behavior section before asking, "Do you take him out for walks often?"

"I tried taking him on patrols, but he gets too wild on a leash."

"He needs somewhere to run around. Why don't you enroll him in a day care during the day? I'd use PawPads if I were you – that's where I leave Luna once in a while. That way, your arcanine will get the excitement and exercise he needs."

Alex took out his tablet and typed the name down. "PawPads, was it? Looks expensive."

"Yeah, but they'll treat your arcanine right – grooming, good food, lots of open space. Twice a week should be good enough. They'll train him too if you need it."

"Well, I guess you're the expert. Thanks kid. I'll give it a try."

The officer's tablet beeped, and he read the message that popped up. "My friend got back to me. He's really excited."

The tablet beeped again, and Alex chuckled when he read it. "He's on his way right now. If I were you, I'd leave before he shows up. He can be a bit… unusual when he gets excited."

"Is he an officer too?"

"Nah, he's a programmer for the force, does all the cyber security and computer investigation stuff."

Alex's tablet beeped again, and he glanced at it. "You lucked out. The commissioner dragged him back to his desk. Looks like Johnny'll have to be happy with the photo."

Sam caught a glance of the officer's badge underneath Alex's trench coat. He swallowed and asked, "Is there any particular reason you're talking to me?"

"Any reason?" Alex cocked his head and said, "I suppose not. Why, am I making you feel uncomfortable?"

Sam panicked and said, "Oh, uh, no, I just thought it was weird and all, and–"

Alex laughed and waved the waitress over. After she poured them another round, the officer slapped a twenty on the table and gathered up his newspaper.

"Don't worry, I understand. I'd be feeling weird if a random stranger walked up to my table and started talking to me. I just thought you'd be able to help me with my problem, seeing how you managed to raise an umbreon. Thanks for hearing me out."

Alex turned towards the door, and then he fished a business card out of his pocket. He slapped it on the table in front of Sam and said, "I owe ya one, kid. No really, I was at my wit's end trying everything from squirt bottles to shock collars to get my arcanine to settle down. If you have a problem, I'll see if I can take care of it."

Sam took the card and put it in his pocket. "Uh, thanks."

"Anytime ki – Sam."

Alex handed his empty mug to the waitress, buttoned up his trench coat, and strode out the door. Once he was gone, Sam asked the waitress, "Does he do that often?"

"Once in a while," she said. "He's been coming here… oh, for the last eight years or so. Always gets his coffee black and reads the paper. Sometimes people meet him here, and other times, he joins someone else's table." The waitress glanced towards the door and said, "He doesn't tip very well, but he doesn't ask much either."

"Eight years? Guess I never noticed him." Sam finished his tea and took the wet, sticky plastic shell from Luna. She shook herself and bounced onto the floor as Sam left a five on the table.

"Have a good one!" Sam shouted from the doorway.

Sam looked towards his home, but then he turned around and walked further north, into the shopping district of Palsitore. Quaint shops and small restaurants lined the narrow streets, cars honked and inched forward through bumper to bumper traffic, and throngs of people jostled each other in the sidewalks. Sam slid in between the crowds, weaving his way to his mother's pottery shop.

First he peeked in through the front window. Two people were spinning a lumpy clay pot at a wheel right next to the window, but the rest of the shop was empty. Two tables had lumps of clay waiting for customers, and four more were left unplugged and fastidiously clean. Wooden shelves lined the walls, crammed with paints, enamels, brushes, pencils, scissors, scraping tools, gloves, and other arts-and-crafts items. He saw his mother at a table in the back, making a vase taller than himself and working blue dye into the clay. The vase seemed to climb up her hands, taking form without effort, and as the vase stopped spinning, his mother nimbly attached two clay handles on the sides and smoothed them in place.

A bell jingled as Sam walked through the door. Mrs. Milone stopped the wheel and looked up.

"Sam! Were you bored?"

"Yeah. Another slow day, huh?"

"Actually, I sold four vases earlier! Just little ones, though."

Mrs. Milone glanced around the shop and asked, "You wanna spin a wheel?"

"Eh, sure."

Sam took a seat at the table farthest from the door and placed his feet on the pedal. He pressed his hands against the clay and spun it into a column, but when he tried to hollow it out, the sides wobbled out, and cracks formed in the clay. After it split in two, Sam mashed it back together and tried again. Time after time, the clay fell apart in his hands, and after a while, he started sculpting the clay as high as it would go, making skinny teetering towers out of the clay before it stiffened up on the wheel.

His mother scooped up the clay and placed it in a bin behind the counter. "You'll get it one day," she said as she rinsed her hands off.

"Hey mom, why did you start a pottery shop?"

"It's what I always wanted to do, you know that."

"But I mean – there's plenty of easier jobs out there. Why this one?"

"Same reason you want to be a pokemon professor, sweetie." Mrs. Milone smiled and placed her hands on Sam's shoulders. Bits of clay stuck onto his shirt. "It doesn't matter how hard the path ahead of you becomes, just try your hardest to get the life you want, and everything will work out." She straightened her hair and asked, "So, what do you want for lunch?"

Sam glanced towards the door. "I'm not that hungry right now. I think I'll just go home."

"Well, alright." Mrs. Milone took a ten out of the register and gave it to Sam. "Just in case you get hungry on the way back."

"Thanks mom." Once Sam got out of the shopping district and into quieter streets, he called out Luna and walked home with her.

"It'll all work out in the end, won't it?" he asked Luna. Then he stooped to a knee and patted her head. "We'll make it work, somehow."

He forced a smile onto his face as he walked home, but the business card in his front pocket kept poking him as he walked.


	7. Chapters 13-14

Chapter 13: Mr. Deltoro

Mr. Ducall straightened Sam's costume and shoved the mask onto his face. Then he handed him the VIP ticket from Sam's folder.

"This'll get you through the doors. You'll need your brawler ID to sign up for fights and manage your pokemon."

"Doesn't this seem… bureaucratic for a crime syndicate?" Sam asked.

"Mr. Deltoro takes business very seriously, kid." The lawyer brushed off a speck of dust and said, "Now, this first fight will be the most important match you'll have, hands down. Win this, and the whole casino will line up to offer you pokemon – heck, they might even give you money, so don't blow it."

"Are you going with me?"

"Sorry kid, I have grown-up business to take care of. You'll be fine, just go through the tunnels to the warehouse, then go straight to the casino."

"What if I get mugged?"

"You won't. Nobody's stupid enough to go after a brawler in Deltoro's neighborhood. He's got cameras everywhere and a watchman on every block. Now get going, Mr. Deltoro doesn't like it when people are late to his brawls."

Sam checked his pockets and touched each pokeball on his belt before he walked through the iron door into the tunnels. When he came out at the warehouse, he saw that every trace of damage had vanished, and instead, the warehouse was crammed full of bookshelves and cabinet drawers. Piles upon piles of legal documents collected dust on the shelves, filling the room with a musty, mildew-tinted odor that made Sam's nose wrinkle. He walked over to the beam that Luna had slammed the poliwrath into and saw a very faint welding seam where the beam had been cut out and replaced, but otherwise, the replaced section had a pattern of rust indistinguishable from the rest of the column.

"The other brawlers shouldn't be stronger than Mr. Gold, right?" Sam asked himself. "Otherwise they wouldn't let me in after losing to him."

Sam shook his head. "I'm worrying too much. I should just go." As he walked towards the door, he stopped and turned around. He placed his hand against the replaced beam and said, "That should've been enough to knock out that poliwrath. How the hell did it get up again?"

He tapped the steel beam, and then he gave it a solid kick. A dull, solid clang echoed up the beam, but the metal didn't even budge. Sam sat and rubbed his foot for a few seconds before standing up again, checking the beam. A bit of rust had rubbed off, exposing the gleam of metal underneath, but otherwise, he couldn't find a dent in it.

Sam shrugged his shoulders and said, "Maybe the old beam was weaker."

He thought about giving another beam a kick, but his throbbing toes made him decide against it. Instead, he walked out of the warehouse and into the dark alleyways criss-crossing the west side of the city. Once in a while, he saw figures in the shadows, but they vanished from sight when he walked near them.

Sam followed the map a few blocks north before the city underwent a sudden transformation before his eyes. The unlit, pot-hole ridden alleyways gave way to brightly lit streets lined with specialty shops and fine restaurants. Gentleman dressed in suits and wearing brightly colored masks roamed the streets, trailed by grubby-looking servants carrying their bags and street thugs brandishing clubs at anyone that stepped near their employer.

As Sam walked down the street, he expected stares from the people passing him, but no one gave him the slightest glance. Sam even saw a few costumes more eye-catching than his own, from a whirring mechanical suit that stomped through the street to a scandalous woman's dress that left nothing to the imagination. Sam kept his eyes on the ground in front of him as he walked past her.

Three blocks down the street, he saw the heart of this vibrant, seedy district. A tower loomed over the surrounding cityscape, and hundreds of people crowded its entrance. He glanced through its doors and saw row after row of slot machines. Further to the left, he could see the edge of a blackjack table, and on the far right, he saw roulette and craps tables.

He looked around the entrance and saw a single metal door on the far right of the building, with a VIP sign painted over the entrance. Two burly men dressed in white suits stood guard at the door. Sam walked up to them and handed them his ticket. One took out a scanner and read the barcode at the end of the ticket before handing it back to him.

"Floor B5," the guard said to him. "Mr. Deltoro would like to speak with you."

The door opened with a soft ding, revealing a small room with gold walls and carpeting, and an elevator in the far wall. Sam pressed B5, and the doors opened instantly. Faint cello music played as the elevator raced down to his destination, and it gently slid to a stop before opening the doors.

The brawling ring sat at the bottom of a huge pit, with walls that gently sloped outward. Stairs ran all the way up the cardinal directions, and flat rings held tables and bars at even heights above the brawling ring. Every seat had a view of the ring, and most tables had elevated chairs and shifted table height to accommodate the view. Even from the entrance, he could see dozens of wealthy elite smiling at the battle below, applauding and toasting every solid blow one pokemon landed on another. Sam couldn't see the battle itself very clearly, but he could tell that a dark-colored blur was pressing an attack while a lighter-color smear struggled to dodge the onslaught. After a few minutes, the light-colored pokemon fell and was swapped out for one with a red hue.

A woman in a maid's uniform walked up to him and held out her hand. "Feathers, correct?" She asked blankly. "Mr. Deltoro is waiting."

Sam reached for the hand, but the woman turned around and walked away. Sam followed after her, skirting around a bar and three well-dressed women before they reached a sliding doorway guarded by two men that dwarfed the guards outside. Each of them had stun batons at their waists and thick knuckledusters at their fingertips. The woman waved them aside, opened the door, and pulled Sam into the room.

Every object in Mr. Deltoro's room had a thin line of red paint around the bottom, everything from the table legs to the chairs were carefully marked in the concrete floor. Wine glasses had circular areas with their names written both in paint and in Braille right below them, and every object on Mr. Deltoro's desk had its own spot, from a circle for a wine glass to an empty square about the right size for pieces of paper.

Mr. Deltoro sat in a small, smooth wooden chair behind his desk. His eyes were firmly shut, and the skin around them was lacerated with thin white scars. Half of his left ear was gone, along with most of his lips, and beneath the man's sleek black hat, Sam could see thin white hairs poking out the sides. Mr. Deltoro wore a thin silver jacket, with the outline of a bulletproof vest jutting out near the shoulders.

"Have a seat, Mr. Milone," he said, gesturing to the matching chair on the other side of the desk. The woman pulled out the seat and gestured for him to sit. When Sam sat down, the waitress shoved his chair back into the markings on the concrete floor.

"Would you care for root beer, or green tea?" he asked. "I've heard you're partial to both."

Sam debated his response and said, "I'll take the tea."

Mr. Deltoro clapped, and the woman brought out a delicate china pot and a matching tea cup. She poured out a steaming cup, and Sam carefully brought it to his nose. With one sniff, he could tell that the tea was of a far better quality than he had ever tasted before, rich vanilla aromas intertwined with the soft, leafy smell of green tea, along with faint notes of cinnamon and ginger. Sam took a quick sip, closed his eyes, and let the flavor wash over his tongue.

"Honey?" Mr. Deltoro reached into a cabinet and pulled out a glass jar. Thick amber honey with bits of honeycomb floating in it sat at the bottom, with a spoon jutting out from the middle. Sam took a spoonful and swirled it around in his tea before taking another delicious sip.

"You seem to be enjoying it," Mr. Deltoro said.

"It's incredible," Sam answered. "I've never tasted anything like it. Thank you."

Mr. Deltoro took the jar of honey and placed it perfectly back in its painted spot. "Shall we get to business, then?"

Sam felt the tea churn in his stomach. "Is something wrong?"

"No, nothing at all. I just wanted to make sure you are fully aware of the arrangement between us. You read through Mr. Ducall's liability agreements, correct?"

"I did," Sam said. "I don't tell anyone about your business and you keep mine a secret, right?"

"That's one way to put it. I suppose you're familiar with the house rules?"

Sam swallowed the rest of his tea and handed the cup back to the woman. "All pokemon must be registered to fight within your computer system, and I must give twenty-four hour notice for all pokemon I use. Killing pokemon is prohibited and punished with fines, all other brawl rules must be upheld, etc."

"Good. Normally, I wouldn't allow someone as young as you in here, but I can't ignore a good business opportunity like you. So, do you understand what that means?"

Sam thought through his words and said, "I make you money, and we don't have any problems."

"Exactly. And that doesn't just mean winning battles, Sam. You have to make everyone in the audience want to bet on your matches."

"So I should give them a show."

Mr. Deltoro smiled. "That's what they're here to see."

Chapter Fourteen: Business-like Negotiations

Mr. Deltoro clapped his hands, and the maid stood next to him, in a painted section just large enough for her feet. "Now, Miss Tate, show him to his locker room, and then get him a table on the second ring."

Miss Tate bowed and stood behind Sam. When he stood up, she pushed his chair back in place and walked out of the room. Sam followed her around the upper ring and through another door. This time, he had to open it by swiping his card on a reader next to the door. The door clicked open, and Miss Tate pushed it back for him. Down a concrete staircase, Sam came into a long hallway with thick metal doors at even intervals along both sides. Miss Tate walked four doors down and stopped at the one on the left.

"Here you are," she said. "Your card will only open this door."

Sam swiped his card and walked inside. The room was a bare patch of concrete with benches along the walls, a computer terminal tucked behind a fiberglass screen in a corner, and racks of grooming equipment hanging from the walls.

"You can register for matches and groom your pokemon here," she said. "You have a roulette match set for eight. Until then, take a table."

Miss Tate led him back into the main area and down the stairs until they reached the second ring from the bottom. An empty table, closed off with a reserved sign and thick velvet rope, waited for him. Miss Tate shoved the rope aside and tucked the sign under her arm.

"Your table, Feathers. You may order refreshments from your waiter. Mr. Deltoro also suggests that you speak with anyone that approaches your table. They may offer you contract pokemon if they like you."

Miss Tate's skirt fanned out as she turned and left. Moments later, a sharply dressed waiter with slicked-back hair walked over with a notepad in hand. Sam asked for a meat-lover's pizza and root beer – moments later, the waiter returned with an enormous deep-dish pizza loaded with pepperoni slices larger than his hand, tender strips of bacon, tender chicken pieces straight from the bone and sausages big enough to serve as meatballs. Sam carved out a slice and slapped it on his plate. Cheese and tomato sauce oozed off of the slice, covering his plate in a greasy, steaming puddle. Sam scooped up a bite with a fork, clicked a button to make the beak collapse up into itself, and placed the pizza in his mouth, savoring the grease and oregano sliding down his throat. He poured himself a glass of root beer – brought over in an intricately cast glass bottle – took a sip, and marveled at the rich, powerful vanilla and honey flavors within the beverage.

After Sam finished his first slice, a bunny-masked woman wearing a loose, silky dress sat next to him and helped herself to a slice. The mask left her mouth exposed, and her piercing green eyes gazed at him from behind the mask.

"Care to pour me a glass?" she asked.

Sam tipped his bottle over the glass she held out. The woman looked at the bubbling brown beverage with a frown.

"C'mon kid, root beer? You should live a little more." She threw back the glass and drank it all. "Why do they even call it beer if it doesn't have any alcohol in it?"

"So, you're a cop?" Sam asked.

The woman chuckled. "How blunt. Yes, I am an officer of the law. Just thought I'd check out the fresh meat. Marcie told me about you."

"Marcie?"

The officer picked up her slice of pizza and dangled a long, drooping string of cheese across her face before chomping at it. "Mm-hmm, the bunny for Smiles' ring." She glanced away and said, "Oh, you've got more company."

A corpulent gentleman wearing a walrein mask sat down at the table and passed a manila folder towards Sam. He opened it up and saw a photo of a weavile, along with a dossier about its height, weight, claw length, age, and other information.

"That's what I put into the roulette," the man said, "And there's ten million riding on the pot. Win with my Jaeger, and you can have him."

"Uh, I…"

Another man, this one wearing a blaziken mask paired with a crimson tuxedo, helped himself to a slice as he gave Sam his folder.

"Mine's beffer," he mumbled through his food. Then he swallowed and said, "I'll let you keep Reinhardt if you use him" before cramming the rest of his slice into his mouth.

Sam opened that folder and examined the photo of a lairon. Its armor gleamed and looked smooth enough to skip across a pond, but Sam could tell its armor had stress fractures along its ribs.

"Bah, take that, and you'd be in trouble if someone put in a machoke," walrein-mask countered.

"And yours wouldn't be?" blaziken mask retorted. "At least mine can take a few punches."

"At least mine knows how to dodge."

Sam glanced back and forth between the two gentleman and said, "I can't make any promises right now, but I'll consider your offers."

Sam inched away from his guests as they settled themselves down into their seats and helped themselves to a slice of his pizza. When they held out their glasses, Sam offered them root beer, but they waved it away.

"I'll take a Cabernet," blaziken-mask told the waiter. In a flash, he returned with a thick green bottle and poured them both a cup. The cop held hers out as well, and with a nod from blaziken-mask, her cup was filled. The waiter also offered the bottle to Sam, but he waved it away.

The walrein-masked man held out a gloved hand. "Pleasure to meet you Feathers. I'm Kurt Koborn, CEO of PNC. Here's to hoping you don't become a major news headline for my network."

"Luke Blair," blaziken-mask said, holding out his hand. "Major shareholder in Blair Engineering and KernTech. So, which do you prefer, speed, or defense?"

Sam mulled over the question and said, "Speed, usually, but defense has its benefits."

Mr. Blair frowned. "I see. Well, what do you think of Reinhardt?"

Sam poured himself a glass of root beer while he thought over what he should say. He took a long swallow, then he carefully asked, "Did that lairon have a side injury recently?"

Mr. Blair flinched and glanced around the table, before leaning in and asking, "How can you tell?"

"The fractures on the side haven't healed up yet," Sam said, pointing to the picture. "You can see cracks running down the side. That would open up again if it got hit hard enough."

Luke drained his wine glass and slammed it on the table. "Damn it! The vet told me he'd be fine. How much longer do you think it'd need?"

Sam took out his tablet and looked through his notes on lairon. "How long ago was the injury?"

"Two months."

"Another month should do it," Sam said. "Six weeks to be sure."

"Ah hell." He glared at Mr. Koborn and said, "Not a word of this leaves this table."

Mr. Koborn raised one hand and placed another on his chest. "On my life. Besides, if it helps my Jaeger win, I'll let you trick the opponent into a raw deal."

"My Reinhardt lose to that? You must be joking."

"That sluggish brute wouldn't even see my Jaeger coming," Mr. Koborn said, swiping away a string of cheese swinging from his lip. "You might as well talk to Kaiser, you're not going to change this young man's mind, not after he saw your damaged goods."

Mr. Blair shrugged and adjusted his mask. "Sure, it's injured, but at least it can evolve again. Wouldn't you say it makes a better long-term investment?"

"Too much risk up-front. Jaeger's ready to fight, yours is not."

"Bah!" Luke Blair scooped up another slice onto a place and stood up. "Thank you for the meal, Feathers, and I hope you will consider my business proposal further."

Once he left, Mr. Koborn also left, scooting his large belly around the table before standing up and shaking Sam's hand.

"Likewise, I have to return to my table. I look forward to seeing your first match, and if you pick Jaeger, I'll be betting on you." He laughed and said, "Best of luck to you, whatever you pick!"

Sam shook his hand and gave the man an uneasy smile. "Thank you. I'll think about your offer."

Once the two businessmen left, the officer leaned in closer to Sam and said, "Damn kid, you scored on your first night."

"Yeah, getting some more contracts will be nice. I'll need a stronger roster."

The cop laughed and said, "Those weren't contracts silly! They're going to give you those pokemon, for keeps."

"Wait, what?"

"Don't expect it for all the pokemon you'll see – betters like to entice brawlers with free pokemon in exchange for being chosen in the roulette. Makes it more likely you'll be picked, but you can't give up a prize fighter either."

"They're giving me their pokemon?"

The woman cut another dainty piece of pizza and licked it off her fork. "Geez kid, I thought you were smart. Yes, if you meet their terms."

"But I can't just take a pokemon! What am I supposed to do with it?"

"Keep it, sell it, give it away, whatever kid. You don't have to take it home. Come to think of it, wasn't Cloud signed over to you too?"

"What?"

"Wow kid, you're really out of the loop. Cloud's been passed around, nobody wants that grouchy bird. You're stuck with him now." She chuckled and took the wine bottle from the center of the table, taking a long swallow before setting it down. "Well, I think I've had enough fun with you. Don't blow it kid."

She stood up, brushing her skirt against Sam's chin as she walked away. Sam rubbed the spot where her skirt touched as he stared into the crowd.

As he finished off the last, lukewarm slice of pizza, Mr. Deltoro's voice echoed across the room from a string of loudspeakers overhead.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the main event is about to begin! Kaiser and Feathers, come on down!"

Sam's stomach knotted up as he heard the announcement, and the taste of pepperoni mixed with bile crept into the back of his mouth. With shaking hands, Sam pushed himself off the table and strode towards the pit.


	8. Chapters 15-16

Chapter 15: Risk and Reward

As Sam walked down the stairs to the arena, he spotted a man on the opposite side heading into the pit. He had a black mask with a brilliant white cross in the center, slashing up his nose and across his eyes. He wore a tight-fitting black jacket and sturdy black leather jeans, along with knee-high cavalry boots and thick gloves in matching colors. White springy strands jutted from the top of his mask and along the sides of his arms, and a thin white belt gripped his waist.

When he walked into the ring, Sam heard a thin kinetic barrier rise up around him, sealing him inside the arena. The black-clad man waited in the center of the arena. Taking a deep breath, Sam walked forward and looked up at Kaiser. He could see the man's cold blue eyes behind the mask.

"You're the fresh meat, eh? Ready to become hamburger, little kid?"

In a panic, Sam said the first words that came to mind. "Only if you can mustard the skill to ketchup to me."

Sam cringed at the pun, but the crowd above applauded his words. Kaiser chuckled and said, "I'll make you eat those words."

Sam forced a grin onto his face and said, "I'll relish the taste." He started to sweat when Kaiser's smile hardened into a stony frown. He opened his mouth, but he was interrupted by the arrival of Mr. Deltoro. The old man counted to himself as he walked down the steps, checking with his feet when he reached the pit before stepping forward. The ringmaster raised a microphone to his lips and said, "I have the ten participants' pokemon right here," he said, holding up a string of pokeballs." He announced ten names and the pokemon they submitted as he called out each one. Jaeger came out third, Reinhardt fifth, and a tall, lean, stringy blaziken from an energy tycoon finished the roster. The room fell dead silent as Mr. Deltoro turned towards Sam and Kaiser.

"Sam, since you are the rookie here, you may choose to pick first or last."

Sam glanced over the roster, and while each pokemon outclassed anything he had faced in Smiles' ring, the blaziken held a clear advantage over a roster filled with dark, rock, and steel types, and it loomed over the mienshao and quagsire. Yet, as he debated taking the blaziken, he couldn't shake from his mind Mr. Koborn's offer.

Sam walked up to the blaziken, approaching it slowly until he saw the pokemon's leg muscles relax. He examined the blaziken's legs and held his hand a few inches away from them, feeling the intense heat that radiated from them.

Then he walked over to Jaeger and held out his hand. The weavile glanced at his hand and his face before slowly reaching out and gently placing his claws in Sam's gloved hand. Sam caressed the tips of the claws, feeling the claws sink into the fabric of his gloves and poke against his fingers.

Sam leaned in closer and whispered to Jaeger. "I'd like to fight with you, but you'd be going up against that blaziken. Think you can handle it?"

The weavile glanced down the roster. It paused and looked away from him before meeting his gaze and nodding.

"Alright. Win, and I'll be your new trainer. I'll do my best to care for you in return."

Sam stood up and turned towards Mr. Deltoro. "I'll take Jaeger," he said. The crowd buzzed with whispers, and Kaiser laughed at him.

"Then I'll take Blitz. Easiest fifty grand I ever made!" As Kaiser walked away with the blaziken, he walked back to Sam and whispered to him, "I would've probably taken Reinhardt if you hadn't been such a cheeky bastard."

Sam looked up at the crowd and spoke loudly, "I guess I'm in quite the pickle now!"

Kaiser gritted his teeth and said, "Okay, fuck you and fuck your puns! I'm going to crush you so hard they won't be able to tell what's human and what's weavile when they're scraping the two of you off the floor!"

The crowd roared after Kaiser's shout, and one man was whooping and hollering in his seat, ordering expensive vintages loud enough for half the room to hear. Kaiser smiled at the crowd before sauntering over to his side of the ring, a referee called back the eight leftover pokemon, and Mr. Deltoro walked up the stairs to a reserved table on the first ring.

Once Sam entered his protected area, a circle in the far end of the arena cordoned off by a faintly translucent kinetic barrier, a large monitor descended from the ceiling, displaying the arena on four huge screens. A series of colored lights, going from red to green, hung from the bottom of the monitor. The countdown began with the glow of a red light, followed by two more, then a yellow, and finally, all the other lights darkened when the green one lit.

"Fire blast!" Kaiser roared. Blitz reared its head back, sticking out its chest as it took a deep breath. Sam watched its feet shift and said, "Run left and jump!"

In a black blur, Jaeger raced to the left half of the arena and leapt as a fiery star rushed through the arena, slamming into the arena with a thunderous crackle. Flames raced across the floor, but Jaeger leapt over the flames, sliding to a stop right in front of the blaziken.

"Avoid the legs and aerial ace!" Jaeger slashed at Blitz's chest, but it blocked with its tough, scaly arms. Blitz flung a fiery fist at Jaeger, and he barely parried the blow, burning his left arm.

"Double kick!"

Sam thought through the weavile's dossier and shouted, "Substitute!"

Jaeger vanished, leaving behind an icy replica that the blaziken kicked to pieces, then Jaeger reappeared behind Blitz.

"Aerial ace, again!"

Jaeger slashed at the blaziken with dazzling speed, but again, the blaziken's scaly arms thwarted the attack. Time after time, Jaeger leapt at the blaziken, and each time, Jaeger's claws met nothing but tough scales.

"Slow it down with icy wind, then try again!"

"Blaze kick!"

Blitz swept its right leg across. Jaeger ducked under the blow, but its icy attack melted around the blaziken. As Blitz regained its footing, Jaeger slashed again, this time catching Blitz across the shoulder. Blood welled up from the gash and dripped onto the floor, but Blitz steadied itself and burned the wound shut.

Sam thought through move and countermove, but Blitz's quick defense stumped him. Then he looked at Kaiser. His eyes looked like sunken glaciers, and his fists clenched tight enough to warp the leather of his gloves.

"Hey Kaiser," Sam shouted across the arena. Sam brought his hand halfway to his face to wipe the sweat out of his eyes, but he changed the gesture into a yawn. "This is getting boring. Lettuce get this battle over with, alright?"

The drawn-out "lettuce" made Kaiser's face redder than Blitz. He gave Sam two gyrating middle fingers and shouted, "Overheat that motherfucking weavile!"

Sam smiled and shouted "Dig!"

As Blitz's flames surged through the whole arena, making the barrier spark and crackle like a bug lamp, Jaeger tunneled deep into the concrete floor, making twists and turns to shunt away the heat from above. Once the flames cleared, the blaziken fell to a knee, panting and shaking. Before it could recover, Jaeger rushed out of the ground, clobbering Blitz in the beak and sending him flying into the air. When Blitz landed on his back, Jaeger rushed in, tearing and slashing at the blaziken's chest and face until the referee threw the flag.

One shout of dismay came from the table with a sparkling collection of valuable vintages before it was drowned out by thunderous applause. Mr. Koborn knocked his table aside, tipping a few wine glasses and knocking a plate onto the carpet as he jumped into the air and whistled.

Mr. Deltoro walked down into the arena and announced Sam as the winner. He waved Sam and Kaiser to the center of the arena and had them shake hands. Sam could feel the concrete's heat through his boots as Kaiser firmly grasped his hand.

"Well played, kid," he said. "I'll get you for that next time."

Another hamburger pun leapt to Sam's mind, but he held it back and instead said, "Good match."

Mr. Deltoro handed each of them an envelope, Sam's noticeably bulkier than Kaiser's, before walking all the way up to his room. Kaiser walked off, leaving Sam glancing around the arena and trying to figure out where he should go. His eyes fell on Jaeger, nursing his burned arm while a medic rubbed hyper potion into Blitz's chest. Sam took a potion from his pocket and walked towards him.

"Here," Sam said, spraying the potion. "That better?"

The weavile nodded as the burns faded, leaving a thin blotchy pink scar across its cold black skin. Before Sam could say anything else, a referee called Jaeger back into his pokeball and took him away. Sam followed the referee as she returned the pokeballs to their owners and stopped at Mr. Koborn's table when he received Jaeger. The news station CEO was plowing through a plate of broiled lobster and passed Sam a bowl of lobster bisque when he sat down.

"Amazing!" he said after swallowing a lobster claw. "Absolutely genius, goading him into using overheat like that." He slapped a piece of paper and a pen onto the table. "You made me twelve million richer tonight, between winning the pot and the bet on your match. As promised, Jaeger's yours. All you have to do is sign."

Sam examined the pen. The fountain pen, inlaid with a delicate swirl of gold leaf, felt heavy in his hand. He read through the document's tiny, neat font, taking in every weighty word as he debated making yet another life-changing signature. Then, with a flourish of his hand, Sam signed. Mr. Koborn wiped butter off of his chin as he passed Jaeger's ball over.

"I'll be rooting for you, Feathers. If you ever need a favor, let me know."

Sam thanked him and left, leaving behind a cooling, succulent bowl of lobster bisque and taking with him his prize.

Chapter Sixteen: Unwanted Attention

Officer Alex Bayson took a slip of paper a pokemon handler gave him as he left his arcanine at PawPads. Even looking at photos online hadn't prepared him for how far the facility stretched, with ceilings high enough to house trees and walls far enough apart that he had to take an hour-long tour in a jeep to see the whole perimeter. From a river running down the middle of the complex to pristine feeding stations laid out with meat so fresh it dripped blood, berries straight from the bushel, and crisp vegetables he could snap in his hands, from a cordoned-off room where professionals taught pokemon to sit, stay, and fetch items to grooming centers with cinnamon-scented shampoos and dexterous shears, Officer Bayson felt like he mugged them, paying five hundred a day to send his arcanine to doggy heaven.

When he placed the slip of paper in his pocket, he took out a thick notepad, half crumpled up and crammed with tiny scribbles, and the other half neatly pressed together with a rubber band. Officer Bayson wriggled a new page out of the bundle and wrote himself a note to thank Sam.

On his way out, he saw a large, flashy woman walking an espeon into PawPads. Bayson thought of his friend as he slid his phone out of his trench coat's pocket and snuck a picture. His pocket covered half of the frame, but he got most of the espeon in the shot. He sent it to Johnny as he clambered into his car, a beaten-down old clunker whose blue paint had scraped off in patches, with cracked side-view mirrors and a rim hammered into a lopsided, vaguely circular shape. The engine gasped and sputtered, lurching back before swerving out of the PawPads parking lot.

Officer Bayson stopped for a coffee and sipped the murky brown beverage with disdain for its oily, weak flavor as he drove to the police station. He parked the clunker out back and walked up to the front, glancing to his sides before walking in, throwing his trench coat on the nearest coat hanger and covering up three other jackets. His notebook tumbled out of its pocket, and he tucked it into a pants pocket before swiping his card and proceeding to the back of the police station. Gray cubicles criss-crossed the main floor, and small private offices lined the walls. On one end was a conference room with a pane-glass walls.

The officer went down a flight of stairs, passing a set of locker rooms and walking into the break room. He took a donut from the fridge and crammed it into his mouth, grunting in surprise when jelly spurted out of it and onto his white shirt. Muttering to himself while he chewed, he dabbed the jelly off with a paper towel and rinsed out the purple stain.

While Officer Bayson debated taking a second donut, Johnny rushed in, grabbing him by his shoulders and shaking him around. His ghostly pale skin shone under the fluorescent lights, and his unruly black hair matted itself down at awkward angles. A pair of bronze-rimmed glasses hung crookedly on his long, angular nose, and his small, brown eyes peered out from underneath an absurdly large, bushy set of eyebrows.

"You lucky son of a bitch! First you see an umbreon, then you see an espeon weeks later! Didn't you get my texts? I texted you, like, twenty times!"

Bayson pulled out his phone, which twitched like a joltik from all the messages. He deleted the bunch and said, "If you really want to see pokemon, go outside for once."

"Ugh. Anyways, the commissioner wants you. Sounds like you have a new assignment."

"Freaking finally!" Officer Bayson straightened his shirt and said, "I'll be up in a minute."

The officer sprinted into the locker rooms and pulled his lock open. His uniform hung neatly pressed on a coat hanger, along with a set of pants and three folded white t-shirts. Officer Bayson flung off all his old clothes and wriggled into his uniform, breathing onto his badge and rubbing it clean before sticking it on his chest. Then he reached up and grabbed his semi-automatic pistol, checking the safety before jamming it into his holster. He made it halfway out the door before he turned around and threw off his shoes, cramming his feet into a pair of black boots. He stomped out to the elevator and took it to the fifth floor, passing by a series of spacious offices before stopping at Commissioner Morton's door, rapping firmly before walking inside. The commissioner was typing into his computer, rubbing his thin blonde eyebrows as he scrunched up his lips in concentration. When the door hit the back wall, he looked up, blinking at him with bright green eyes.

"Oh, I didn't hear you knock. Come in."

"You have a new assignment?" Officer Bayson asked.

"I do, and you're not going to like it." The commissioner slid a manila folder across his desk. "Here's your new target."

Officer Bayson opened up and glanced at the feathered figure in a photograph. He read through the report and said, "What the fucking hell? Why are we going after Deltoro's new golden boy?"

The commissioner leaned into his chair, which creaked as the aging wooden frame bent back. "Rumor has it that Feathers is just a kid. If news of that ever went public, and as we both know, rumors spread faster than a plague, then the media would have a field day and the public would have our heads."

"Which is why you're having me nab the kid before the media catches wind of him."

"Exactly."

"And I assume we're going with an 'ask first and beg forgiveness later' approach on this one."

The commissioner gravely nodded.

"Great. Anything else I need to know?"

"One other thing. I'll have to take your gun."

Alex's hand dropped to his holster. "Wait, what?"

"The only way this could get any worse is if an officer shot a minor. The absolute last thing we need is a special interview with family members, especially the mother. Good god, can angry mothers move mountains. So, to avoid any unfortunate incidents, we're replacing your gun with something more… kid-friendly."

Commissioner Morton placed a metal case on the table. Officer Bayson pried it open and concealed a disgusted smirk as he handled the light, plastic dart gun.

"You're familiar with those, right?"

"Too familiar. What's next, a BB gun?"

"It's that, or I'll put someone else on the job."

Officer Bayson frowned at the dart gun, and then he took out his pistol and slapped it onto the commissioner's desk.

"No one else is stupid enough to take this job. You better make this worth it."

Commissioner Morton smiled. "Catch the kid without making a fuss, and you can consider the squad captain position yours."

A smile crept onto Alex's face. "I'll have him behind bars by the end of the week."

"Glad I can count on you!" he said with a laugh. Then he glanced at his computer and said, "I've got a call coming in, would you mind?"

Officer Bayson stepped outside and closed the door. He took a few steps down the hall when he realized he forgot the manila folder. He walked back, but his hand stopped on the door as he heard the commissioner speak to his computer.

"Yes, everything is prepared. I'll keep you updated on the officer's actions." Alex leaned closer, trying to pick up the other half of the conversation, but he could only faintly hear garbled mutters. "Yes, I made sure to take his gun. And I – hold on, he forgot something."

Officer Bayson leapt away from the door and sprinted down the hall. He just pushed the button when the commissioner's door opened.

"Hey Alex! Come get your folder!"

He jogged back down the hall, taking the folder before turning around and entering the elevator. As he descended, he thought about going back up and eavesdropping some more, but then he slapped himself.

"What the hell am I thinking? God damn, I need another coffee."

Officer Bayson threw on his trench coat, tucked the manila folder under his arm, and walked over to the Checkered Café.


	9. Chapters 17-18

Chapter 17: Cold Warfare

Sam sat at his desk, petting Luna as he stared at the text from Brandon at his phone. He read each line again and again, turning the words over in his head. Then, tap by tap, he meticulously crafted his response and waited for a reply. A second text popped up seconds later, asking for a time. Sam glanced at the clock on his desk and typed 4:00.

Another text flashed on his screen. Sam put his phone away and stood up.

"Alright Luna, let's go for a walk."

Saying goodbye to his mother, Sam strolled out the door and walked to the Checkered Café. Once there, he ordered tea and sat down at his usual table. He glanced at his cellphone. Two more texts from Brandon showed up on his screen – one thanking him and one apologizing for Emily inviting herself along.

Sam glanced at the time. It was still three-thirty. He settled into his chair, plopped Luna onto his lap, and took a slow sip from his tea. The watery, flat taste made him long for the herbal aromas and complex spices of Mr. Deltoro's tea, but he took another resigned sip and waited.

Movement from the corner of the café caught his eye, and he turned towards Officer Bayson as he walked over and sat at the seat opposite of Sam. He plopped a newspaper onto the table, and Sam noticed a manila folder tucked inside its folds.

"Hey kid, just wanted to thank you."

"Oh, for what?"

"Suggesting PawPads. You're right, kid, it's expensive, but it's worth every penny. Roger hasn't torn up my couch since I took him there."

"Roger? Your arcanine?"

"Yeah. They do a damn – uh, excuse me, a really good job with haircuts. I actually got a girl's phone number while I was walking him. Me?" He said, laughing, "Getting phone numbers from girls?"

Sam chuckled politely and said, "Glad I could help."

"You like tea, right k – er, Sam? I'll refill your cup for you." Officer Bayson waved the waitress over and had her refill their drinks. Then he ordered two cakes and shoved one towards Sam.

"You don't mind coffee in cake, do you?"

"Coffee cake doesn't have any coffee in it," Sam remarked.

"It doesn't?" the officer asked, staring at a piece on the end of his fork. "Who knew?"

Once they finished up the cake, Sam set his fork down and asked, "So, how's work going?"

Officer Bayson set his head on his newspaper and mumbled through the paper, "Awful. Absolutely awful."

"Why? What happened?"

The officer glanced around the empty café and leaned forward. "I got set on the absolute worst job possible. I've got a criminal to catch alive, and the higher-ups want it all hush-hush. They even took my gun away and gave me this cheap plastic crap." Officer Bayson held up his dart gun inside his trench coat before stealthily stowing it away.

Sam's skin turned to ice when he saw the dart gun. He made himself imagine the stage, and a booked crowd in front of him. His cheek muscles steadily relaxed into a calculated, neutral facial expression. "Oh. What did he do?" Sam glanced away and hastily said, "Uh, nevermind, you probably shouldn't tell me."

"No, it's fine. He's wanted for pokemon abuse. Just don't tell anyone, alright?"

"Alright. But pokemon abuse? As in, illegal testing, or something?"

"Worse. Brawling."

Sam's stomach flipped. He tasted tea, cake, and bile at the back of his throat, but he forced himself to relax, focusing on the cushions of his chair and the rustle of his clothes against his skin.

"Making them fight? Yikes. I hope you catch him soon."

"Yeah, it should all be over in two days, hopefully. I'll nab him right as he walks out of his den." Officer Bayson smiled and said, "And they'll finally make me squad captain! Ah, sweet promotions."

The officer leaned on his newspaper. As it shifted towards the edge of the table, Sam caught a glimpse of the papers inside the manila folder. He tapped his half-full cup of tea and thought about what to do next. A tickle formed inside his nostrils, making his nose twitch. As he felt the sneeze building up in his lungs, Sam braced his hand against the cup. The sneeze violently jerked him forward, tipping the mug over and spilling its contents all over the newspaper. Before the officer could react, Sam leapt forward, crying "Oh no, I'll get that," and knocked the newspaper off the table. He shifted his hand so the paper would tip forward, spilling out the manila folder, which in turn, let slip a single photograph of a feathered, black mask with a shining black beak. His mask.

"Oh shit," Alex said as he scooped up the manila folder. "Uh, you didn't see any of that, right?"

"Yeah, right," Sam said breathlessly. His whole chest shook, but the dripping wet newspapers held the officer's attention. As the officer threw the whole soaking bundle in the trash, the door chime rang, announcing Brandon's arrival. Emily skipped in after him, giving the waitress a cheerful wave.

"Hey, we're here," Brandon said. He looked at the plate across from Sam and asked, "Oh, was someone else here?"

"I'm leaving now," Officer Bayson said. He tucked the folder into his trench coat, and with a flash of brown as his coat flared up in the wind, he was gone.

"Who was that guy?" Emily asked as she sat down and slid the officer's crumb-filled plate aside.

Sam took a long swallow of his tea, waiting for his lips to stop shaking before he said, "A police officer. I helped him out with his arcanine."

"Oh wow, you told him about PawPads?" Brandon asked.

"Yeah. He's – he's happy with it."

"Nice."

Two cups of coffee arrived for Emily and Brandon, and the waitress topped off Sam. Three minutes of silence passed, punctuated only by the occasional, noisy sip from Emily's lips. She cleared her throat, and then she gave Brandon a nudge with her elbow.

"Oh, right." Brandon set his mug down, ruffled his long, red hair, and said, "Listen, Sam, I've been thinking about… what happened. I couldn't understand it, and I still can't, but… I'm sorry I made you upset, and I want you to know that, whatever happens, I'll be here for you. So please, I don't want you to be mad at me."

Sam looked back at the door. For a moment, he thought about telling Brandon everything. He thought through how he would get Emily to leave them, and then get Brandon alone in his bedroom, and he made it halfway through his planned confession when the words stopped. Every time he thought of asking for his money, he gritted his teeth. Conflicting images waged war in his head – first he saw himself behind bars, staring out at a prison courtyard, then he saw himself in Brandon's shadow, quietly typing away while Brandon posed for Life Magazine. Lumpy oat gruel in a chipped china bowl. Brandon talking on a live interview. Officer Bayson at the end of a dark alleyway, pointing a gun at him. Brandon smiling down at him. Then he made up his mind.

"Thank you, and you don't have to worry. I'll make it after all."

"Oh really!" Emily shouted. "That's great news! How'd you do it?"

"I'm working for a lawyer now, and he set up a scholarship for me. I'm all set."

Brandon pushed his glasses closer to his face and swatted the hair out of his eyes. "That's random. How did that happen?"

Sam scratched the back of his neck. "Oh, you know, sending out job applications. I had to make that money somehow."

Brandon's eyes narrowed. "And you took a random stranger's help instead of mine?"

Emily grabbed Brandon's arms. She frowned at him and said, "Come on, we're going to be late."

"Late for what?"

"Our date," she said harshly.

"Wait, what?" Brandon sputtered as Emily dragged him out the door. Sam gawked at them as Emily dragged Sam down the sidewalk, and the waitress stepped out to watch with him.

"You know a lot of weird people," she said. "Them, and that officer too."

Sam froze up when she mentioned him. "I gotta make a phone call," he said, handing her a ten. "Thanks for the tea."

The waitress smiled at him. "Come again soon!"

Sam walked down the sidewalk, away from Brandon, and took out his cellphone. He dialed Mr. Ducall's number and waited for him to pick up.

"This better be important," Mr. Ducall said bitterly.

"We've got a problem," Sam said.

"Fuck kid, could you be any vaguer? What problem?"

"There's an officer after me."

"Fucking hell," the lawyer muttered. "Alright, listen. Come straight here. Don't worry a bit; this won't be a problem at all. Just don't do anything stupid and come straight here, okay?"

The lawyer hung up before Sam could say "okay." Sam tried to calm himself, but he glanced over his shoulder as he sped-walked to Mr. Ducall's office. He walked past the receptionist and knocked firmly on the door.

"It's open."

Sam flung the door open, locked it behind him, and sat down.

"Alright kid, tell me what happened. Leave nothing out."

Sam told him everything, from when he first met the officer to the phone call. Mr. Ducall's blonde eyebrows furrowed ever lower on his brow. Halfway through, he pulled out a sheet of paper and started scribbling furiously across its surface, drawing circles and connecting them together. Sam stopped to study the paper, but he couldn't read the lawyer's wild, flowing cursive.

"Keep going kid, I don't have all day," the lawyer muttered mid-penstroke.

Sam finished his account, and the lawyer continued to write for another twenty minutes before crumpling up the paper, chucking it at the garbage bin, and starting over. Four times he repeated the process, until he tore the last paper in half and threw it behind him.

"Fucking hell. This is bad, really really bad."

"Wh – what is it?"

"Deltoro's using you kid. You're his nuke, and he's planning to blow up this whole goddamn town around him. Damn it, he's probably working with Koborn and Fletchley on this."

"The news CEO?"

"Yeah. If word ever got out there was a criminal organization taking kids into its ranks, there would be an uproar like nothing else. Doubly worse is that the police is cooperating with them. The entire police force would get shitcanned, and whoever replaces them will go on a crusade until the west side's nothing but ash, and, Deltoro's going to rape the city blind and disappear before the new police get to work."

"Wait, what? What do I have to do with this?"

"You're a minor, kid, and there's nothing that scares people more than organized criminals seducing children to the life of crime. It'll be all over the news for weeks."

"So, what do we do?"

"Plan A is to go along with the police's plan. If they arrest you before Mr. Deltoro gets to use you, then everything's safe. They can hide you from the media and sweep everything under the rug."

Sam stood up, but the lawyer said, "Easy kid, I'm not going with Plan A. If word ever got out I betrayed a client, even if they were a kid, I'd lose face. No, we're going with Plan B."

Sam swallowed and asked, "What's Plan B?"

Mr. Ducall gave him a stony, solemn stare as he opened a locked drawer on his desk, pulled out a dart gun, and slapped it on his desk.

"Bring Officer Bayson here, alive. We need to have a private chat."

Chapter Eighteen: Darkness

"Aconite, use aerial ace!" Sam shouted. His toxicroak raced forward and swung a massive kick at the ludicolo's face. It teetered wildly, flinging blasts of water across the room. Aconite ducked and leapt over each one and readied herself for the last attack.

"Now, finish it off with poison jab!"

The ludicolo snapped out of its trance, but it could do nothing against Aconite's swift strike, dripping with poison. The attack slammed into the ludicolo's chest, and poison seeped into the bruised skin. Within moments, the ludicolo collapsed to the ground, stunned by the poison. A referee leapt into the ring, called the match, and administered an antidote.

"And with an astounding streak of three knock-outs, Feathers wins the battle!" the announcer cried. Applause rang through the ring, and several businessmen toasted the battle.

Aconite puffed out its orange poison glands and took a bow. Sam called her back, collected his earnings, and walked up to Mr. Koborn's table. The corpulent CEO greeted him with a glass of root beer and a plate of smoked alomomola.

"Excellently done!" Mr. Koborn shouted. His red-tinged cheeks and wild arm movements gave away his drunkenness. "How do you like the croagunk I gave you?"

"She handles well," Sam said. "A perfect fit for my team."

"Excellent! It's the least I could do for my favorite brawler. After all, that makes fifteen million you've made me!"

Sam raised his glass and said, "To a successful business venture."

Mr. Koborn raised his own bottle of wine, said "to becoming fucking rich!" and clanked his bottle against Sam's glass before draining the rest of the wine.

Sam forced a chuckle and took a sip of his root beer. "Speaking of successful business, I have another proposition you might want to hear."

"Oh? Let's hear it."

Sam took a bite of the smoked alomomola, pretending to savor its taste as he thought through his next words. "Not here. It's a bit too crowded for proper business discussions, don't you think?"

"I suppose you're right. Would you like to meet at my office then?"

"A masked brawler can't exactly waltz into a major news studio without drawing attention, now can he?"

"Oh right!" Mr. Koborn said, laughing uproariously. "Well then, where and when?"

"How about Mr. Ducall's office at six sharp?"

"Six, huh? Just before your next match. Erm… I'd miss Roxy's match, but what the hell. I like the sound of this. Yeah, I'll be there. Let me go ahead and write that down."

Mr. Koborn fumbled with his tablet for a moment before shoving it back in his pocket. "Alright then, I think I better be going. Saturday morning news isn't going to make itself!"

With another heartly laugh, Mr. Koborn stood, slapped a thick wad of bills on the table, and left, trailed by a bald, dark-skinned guard in a white suit. Sam took another bite of the fish and placed his hand at his waist, feeling the contour of the dart gun's holster. His hand poked into the holster and wrapped around the trigger.

Sam glanced around the arena, peering table to table. His eyes stopped on a set of white rabbit ears. He craned his head so he could get a better look at the table and saw a bunny sharing drinks with two brawlers. On the other end of the room, he spotted a second bunny leaning on a pillar and eating shrimp ceviche with a long, slender spoon. Satisfied that no one was watching, Sam walked out to the elevator, tapped his dart gun the whole way up, and took long, deliberate strides down to the alleyways. He made sure no one was watching before he took out Jaeger and Aconite.

"Get on the rooftops and wait for my signal. Don't get spotted."

Both pokemon nodded and leapt up. Sam watched them leave before he returned to the busier streets. He wandered around for a while, then he slipped in between a carpet shop and a wine shop, took the second left, and kept walking until he came across a manhole with a long, deep gash running down the middle. He stood on top if it and waited.

After a few minutes, an arcanine bounded around the corner, with Officer Bayson riding on top. A crobat flew behind him and screeched when it saw Sam.

"Huh. Didn't think I'd find you so soon." Alex held out his officer's badge. "You're under arrest for the maltreatment of pokemon and participation in illegal gambling activities. Come quietly," he said, taking out his dart gun, "Or I'll take you by force."

Sam flinched back, only half an act, and threw out Luna and Cloud.

"You really think I'd be stupid enough to treat this like a brawl?" Alex asked, pointing the gun at Cloud. He fired a dart, but Cloud flew over it.

"Now Hanzo, poison fang!"

Caught in the wingbeat, Cloud couldn't react in time as the crobat swooped in and sank its fangs into Cloud's wing. He crashed to the ground, taking the crobat with him.

"Sink your beak into him and don't let go!" Cloud obeyed, clamping Hanzo on the leg and holding him down. "L - Lucky, use flash and start the ambush!"

As Luna's rings glowed, the officer threw an arm over his eyes, fired his dart gun blindly, and shielded his arcanine. While they couldn't see, Jaeger slashed at the crobat, knocking it out cold, while Aconite leapt for the arcanine, knocking it in the jaw with a toxin-laced punch. The arcanine retaliated with a flamethrower that lit up the alley and scorched the toxicroak. Sam called back Aconite and Cloud, while Alex called back Hanzo.

"Playing dirty, huh? That won't help you! Atlas, use block!"

A probopass appeared behind Sam and raised a wall of stone, cutting off Sam's retreat. Then it hurled stones at Jaeger, who leapt over them and onto a rooftop.

Sweat trickled down Sam's neck. "Jaeger, hold off the probopass, Lu – Lucky, confuse ray!"

Luna lurched back and fell to the ground. A dart stuck out of her neck.

Alex smiled at him and twirled a set of handcuffs around his finger. "Looks like your luck's run out kid. Now, do you want to do this the easy way or the hard way?"

Jaeger backed into his leg as the probopass loomed closer. Sam gritted his teeth and shouted "Icy wind!"

A gust of wind raced from behind Sam. He raised his dart gun and fired off three shots. Officer Bayson fired one, but the dart veered off course in the wind. Just as he was about to get hit, his arcanine leapt in front of the darts and took them square in the chest. It fell to the ground, unconscious.

"Shi, no!" The icy gust faded, and the officer fired another shot. Sam didn't have any time to react. Time slowed down, tracing the dart's path towards him, but his own body responded with equal sluggishness. A whirlwind of emotions howled in him – fear, anger, disgust, confusion, but through it cut a wild, grim determination that, no matter what, he would never fail. A shiver trembled up his left arm, then, bit by bit, the dart veered off course. The tip grazed his cheek, leaving a tiny cut before sailing past him. Then Sam fired off his own shot, catching the officer in the cheek. He quickly pulled out the dart, but too late – he slumped to the ground, unconscious.

Atlas glanced around the alleyway, stunned by its master's defeat. Then it rushed towards Sam, but Jaeger held it off with a swipe of his claws. After a moment of hesitation, Sam ran to the fallen officer and took the pokeballs off his belt. He pointed one at a time at the probopass until one called it back.

"Jaeger, get the manhole open," Sam ordered. Once the weavile flung the manhole off with a flick of its claws, the two of them dragged the officer over and carried him down the ladder. Sam took one shoulder, and the weavile pushed up on the other side as they walked down the tunnels.

Halfway there, Sam's eyes drooped. His arms and legs shook, and his head nodded forward.

"Damn it." He called out Aconite and sprayed it with a super potion. "Get us to Ducall," Sam ordered before he blacked out.

Sam woke up hours later on a couch in Mr. Ducall's basement. He stared up at the twinkling glass ceiling, too dazed from the tranquilizer to move. Then he remembered where he passed out, and the adrenaline shot him into a sitting position. His head spun, and he tipped off the couch onto the carpeted floor. With wobbling arms, Sam gritted his teeth and pushed himself onto his knees. He tried to stand, but his legs buckled under his own weight.

Footsteps echoed down the stairway. Sam tried to crawl behind the table, but Mr. Ducall saw his legs. "Oh, you're up. Relax kid, your pokemon dragged you here."

Sam wriggled around the table and looked at Mr. Ducall. "Ugh, what time is it?"

"Ten AM. The officer said he only grazed you, but he got up before dawn." Then the lawyer chuckled and said, "Then again, Bayson's been tranqued enough times to drink the stuff with his morning coffee."

"Wh – where is he?"

"He already left." The lawyer grinned and said, "But don't you worry, he'll be here for our six o clock meeting." Mr. Ducall pointed at a glass of water on the table and said, "Drink, the doctor will be here in ten minutes."

"Okay – wait, doctor? What? Is something wrong with me?"

Mr. Ducall shrugged. "You tell me, kid. I called to tell your mother you'd be staying over here because you passed out. Apparently that's happened to you before, because she had the doctor called. She also wanted to take you home, but I insisted you stay here, because, well, I didn't want to get that costume off of you."

Sam sluggishly looked down at his feathered clothing. "Then what was your plan when the doctor showed up?"

"Honestly kid, I thought you'd be up hours ago. You barely had any of that stuff in you." The lawyer threw him his regular clothes and said, "Hurry it up."

Sam crawled into the bathroom and numbly shoved the costume off of himself. Then he haphazardly wriggled into his shirt, put his boxers on backwards, left his pants unzipped, and forgot one sock. He left the costume and missing sock on the floor and crawled back over to the couch. He tried lifting himself back on the cushions, but only managed to pull a cushion off. The lawyer walked forward and heaved him up.

"Jesus. I can't imagine how you'd be if you took the whole dart. That might've killed you."

"Hah. Guess I got lucky."

"Damn right you did. Alex kept ranting about how cheap his dart gun was, causing the dart to veer off course like that. Oh, and he also knows who you are."

The lawyer's last words didn't register for a moment. Then, understanding slipped through his brain like a torpid eel, and second by second, his face worked itself into an expression of absolute horror.

"What! How?"

"Doesn't exactly take a genius, I suppose. There aren't exactly a lot of people around with an umbreon, and you're the one that saw his case file. Relax kid, and give the doc a big smile."

"Doc?" Sam's eyes drifted to the ceiling for a moment, then he said, "Oh god, that guy. Ugh."

Over an intercom in the wall, the lawyer's receptionist said, "Your ten-fifteen is here, sir."

Sam stood up, hobbling over to the table and leaning against it. "I don't think I can get up the stairs," Sam said.

"It'll be fine, I'll let him down here."

The lawyer walked up stairs, and a minute later, Doctor Drake walked down alone. He smiled at Sam from behind his thick bronze-rimmed glasses, and he held the lead pocketwatch in his hands.

"Hello again, Sam! Had a rough evening?"

Sam sat down and held up his head as high as he could. "I'm feeling better now. Guess I worked a bit too hard last night."

Doctor Drake laughed, and his laughter echoed down the corridors for full seconds. "Ah, reminds me of when I was young. I once stayed up a whole week straight, drinking pot after pot of coffee and studying every medical text in the library." He lifted one of his thin, bony legs, and slapped his foot on the table. "Then, when I took the exam, I feel asleep halfway through the exam and drooled all over my papers!" He laughed even louder, making Sam's ears ring with his laughter. Sam slapped his ears to get the sound out.

Doctor Drake pushed up with his foot, lifting himself to table height without placing his other foot on it. "I still got the highest grade in the class, though, and when the professor had me retake the test a week later, I got a perfect score."

Then the doctor leapt off of the table and leaned towards Sam, blotting out the light of the chandelier. "But enough about me, let's talk about you." He held up the lead pocketwatch and said, "Now, do you remember this?"

"Yes."

"And do you remember what you need to do?"

"Yes."

"Say it."

Sam sighed and said, "Whatever I do, I won't look into the pocketwatch. You've only said it a million times."

The doctor grinned, exposing rows of straight, meticulously cleaned white teeth. "Excellent. Now, let's begin."

Doctor Drake opened the watch and held it in front of Sam's face. Sam braced himself for a sudden rush of drowsiness, but instead, he got a mild headache that seemed to reach down into every nerve, making him feeling like he was sitting in a Jacuzzi full of vinegar. After a moment, the doctor withdrew the pocketwatch and turned away.

"Pardon me. I have a phone call to make."

The Doctor waltzed into the bathroom and locked the door behind him. A minute later, he waltzed back out and took a box from his lab coat.

"You've got migraines. Take one of these pills every morning, and it should keep you from passing out again. I let your mother know so you won't forget."

"Got it."

"Ah ah ah! Repeat what I said."

Sam took a slow, deep breath and said, "Take one pill every morning."

"Good! Also, you might want to apply some pressure to your arm. Looks like I slipped when I took the needle out."

"Needle? What needle?" Sam asked as he looked down at his arm. A tiny rivulet of blood dripped down to his hand, and a single drop fell to the couch. Sam looked back up and saw Doctor Drake tuck a vial of blood into his lab coat.

The doctor pulled a roll of gauze from another pocket and deftly wrapped it around the wound, knotting it tight enough to make Sam wince. "There. Now, I've got another appointment. Take care!"

Doctor Drake ran up the stairs, and after he left, Mr. Ducall walked down stairs.

"Well, how'd it go?"

Sam looked down at the gauze, which slowly turned red around the wound, and said, "I fucking hate that doctor."


	10. Chapters 19-20

Chapter Nineteen: Plan B

Runo Wolfwood - I don't have personal experience with giving blood... needles freak me out, and in all honesty, I can get squeamish enough about the thought of medical procedures to pass out. As for the lack of detail, it's the first I've heard that one, and I think it's worth looking into. I like a bit of detail in my stories, but I'm careful to make sure the story doesn't get bogged down by them. The best use of detail, if you ask me, is to make it do multiple tasks at once, namely setting the tone or contributing to character building. Reading through these chapters, I'm of the opinion that there's enough detail in there to satisfy my tastes, but to each their own.

* * *

At quarter after five PM on Sunday, June 26th, Sam said goodbye to his mother, opened the front door, and walked into the setting sun. He arrived at Mr. Ducall's office at quarter to six, greeted the receptionist, who was busy forging medical papers for a client, put his costume on in the storage closet, and opened the hidden staircase to the basement. Mr. Ducall and Mr. Koborn were already present, sipping wine and nibbling at a kingler plate. Sam could smell Mr. Koborn's grape-laden breath from the bottom of the stairs.

"And then she blurted into the microphone 'I hope you all have a fucktastic day!' Ha! Good thing we weren't live or who knows how many parents we would've pissed off!" Kurt Koborn howled with laughter, knocking over a tub of butter. He reached for another one, took the cloth cover off, and stuck a whole claw into the tub. "Part of me wishes I hadn't fired that one, she was fun as fuck on the set!" He jammed the whole claw into his mouth, working the meat out with his tongue and slapping the empty shell on the plate.

Mr. Ducall politely chuckled and said, "He's here."

Kurt turned his whole chair and beamed at Sam. "Feathers! Come on and take a seat! There's still plenty of kingler left, and damn, it's good! Hey, have some wine too while you're at it!" He offered Sam an almost empty wine bottle, swishing around the contents. Sam saw a bottle of root beer sitting in front of the chair on Mr. Ducall's left, walked around the lawyer, and took a seat. When Sam screwed the top off and took a drink, Kurt shrugged and swigged the rest of his bottle.

"So, shall we get down to business, Peter?" Mr. Koborn.

Sam wondered for a second who Kurt was talking to before he remembered he didn't know the lawyer's first name. Peter Ducall shook his head and gestured to a pot of coffee to his right.

"We're still expecting one more."

"Really? Who is it?"

Mr. Ducall grinned and took a bite of kingler. "I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise."

Kurt Koborn clapped his hands and said "How fun! Let's see if I can guess who it is before they arrive."

Kurt furrowed his brow and placed one fist under his chin, staring at the stairway. He muttered to himself, listing random names for ten minutes straight until the door opened at the top of the stairs. Mr. Koborn sighed and sank back in his chair.

"Ah, looks like I lost. Shouldn't have had all that wine." Kurt placed another crab claw in his mouth, and choked on it when he saw Officer Bayson's trench coat. He slapped his hands on the table, stood up, and shouted at the lawyer, "You fucking son of a bitch! What's he doing here?"

"Relax, Kurt, he's part of the business deal."

"Business my ass! Do you have any idea how much money that man's cost me! I swear, if he didn't have my channel at top ratings for a month straight with all the meth lab busts, I would've had him killed!"

Alex Bayson sat in front of the coffee pot, poured himself a steaming mug, and drank the whole thing in one swallow. "Damn, that's good coffee. It's the moonless midnight roast from Le Colombié, right?"

"Your tongue's as sharp as ever," Peter told him. "Glad you came."

"Like I had a choice," Alex grumbled. He leaned his chair back and placed his feet on the table. The dart gun in his holster dully shone in the chandelier's light. "Now, could we get on with this? I'd get fired if Morton found out I was here."

"Alright then," Mr. Ducall said. "Well, I won't-"

"No, wait," Officer Bayson said, pointing at Sam. "Could you make him take the mask off? I'd like to see his face when I talk to him."

"I have to respect my client's privacy," Peter said, looking at Kurt. Kurt laughed and replied, "I wouldn't be much of a news reporter if I couldn't get ahold of info that easy. I take it everyone here knows who Feathers really is?"

"Samuel," Alex said through his coffee.

"Wes," Kurt answered as he uncorked another bottle.

Peter sighed and said, "Milone. Sorry Sam."

"Well, how about that!" Mr. Koborn laughed before he poured wine between his teeth. "Now c'mon, don't be shy."

Officer Bayson raised the mug to his lips and tipped all the coffee down his throat before wiping the brown stain off of his lips with his trench coat. "No secrets between us if we're going to make this work."

Sam took a long, steady pull at the bottle of root beer, until every drop of amber, sticky liquid trickled past his lips. Then he pulled back a glove, wiped his lips dry, and pulled the mask off, straightening his black hair before setting the mask in front of his plate.

"Much better," Alex said while he refilled his mug with the pot of coffee. "Now, could we get on with business."

Peter adjusted his suit collar and said, "Yes, let's get back to–"

"Now wait a minute!" Kurt roared, pointing at Alex. "I don't care how good your business deal is, I'm not working with that bastard! You think he'd ever keep his word with us?"

"He has no choice now," Peter Ducall grimly said.

"How the hell could you–" Revelation flashed across Mr. Koborn's face, and he frowned as he leaned into his chair. "Oh, that. Well, I'm not interested in helping you." He stood and bowed to the lawyer. "Thank you for your hospitality, but I have other matters to attend to. Have a pleasant evening."

As Mr. Koborn unsteadily walked towards the stairs, Mr. Ducall pulled a revolver out of his pocket and fired a single shot, leaving a chip in the wooden railing of the staircase. Officer Bayson pulled out his dart gun and pointed it at Peter's neck.

"Drop the gun, now!" he barked.

Mr. Ducall held his hands up and dropped the smoking gun on the floor. "I just wanted your attention, Mr. Koborn. I didn't call you here for your help, I called you here as a courtesy to you."

Mr. Koborn turned towards him. His face was pale as boiled kingler meat, and sweat beaded his brow. "Courtesy? What courtesy? You scared ten years off my life!"

"I don't need your help Mr. Koborn, I just want you to take advantage of my plan. With or without your help, I can play Deltoro's game and win."

The CEO took a deep breath, wiped his brow with the sleeve of his suit, and straightened his back. He strode towards the table, pulled back the chair, and smoothly sat back down. "I'm listening."

"What is the best way to make everyone forget a headline?" Peter asked.

"A bigger headline," Kurt reflexively answered. He leaned forward, and his eyes glittered like obsidian. "What headline are you planning to make?"

The lawyer spread his hands apart in the air while he said "Master thief steals the Sapphire Heart!"

The imagined headline lit a fire in the CEO's eyes. He leaned back, flicking his finger against his chin as he poured himself another glass of wine without looking at it. He didn't spill a single drop. He took a slow, steady sip before he said, "He'll need a calling card. The masses eat that kind of stuff up. He's already got a flashy costume, and his stage acting ain't bad either. The first heist has to draw attention, but it shouldn't be too impressive either." Mr. Koborn took another sip and leaned farther back. "A jewelry store, Sableye's maybe, yeah, steal the centerpiece and leave the calling card in its place. Have some footage available too, something that catches the full costume. Leak the footage – let it go viral before bringing home the huge headline. Follow it up with a few minor heists, string the public along, then bam!" he shouted, rushing forward and slamming the table with a fist. "Hit them with the heist of the century. Ratings would triple – no, quadruple with a story like that, and holy shit, all the ad revenue! Ha! Don't get me wrong, police working with criminals makes an amazing headline, but it has no staying power. They'd lose interest after the police got gutted. But this! Everyone will follow every heist, every police maneuver, and every sighting of the master criminal! It's genius!"

"Wait, what?" Sam asked.

Officer Bayson swallowed the rest of his coffee. "I don't get it, but if you're sure it'll work, then I'll play along."

"Now, hold on-"

Mr. Ducall clapped his hands together. "So we're in agreement, then. Good! I'll arrange the first heist, make sure the cameras are properly angled and-"

Sam slammed his hands on the table and stood up. "Stop! Just stop!" He took deep, ragged breaths, and said, "What the hell are all of you thinking? I'm not a thief! I can't – I can't just–"

"You have pokemon, don't you?" Mr. Ducall asked, smirking. "Use them."

"But – but I–"

Officer Bayson sighed and took his feet off the table. "Look kid, I hate this too, but what's the alternative? You'll get arrested, I'll lose my job, and the city will go straight to hell."

"And look at it this way, Sam," Peter said, "You'll get a million dollars that much sooner if you sell off everything you steal." He poured himself a short glass of wine and took a sip. "Just do what I say, and you won't get caught. I promise you that."

Sam sat back down and placed his head in his hands. After a minute, he said, "Fine, it's a deal. Not like I have any choice."

Mr. Ducall leaned over and patted Sam's shoulder. "Good. The sooner we do this, the better. Tuesday night – that's when. You'll need another pokemon to help you – I can get that arranged for tomorrow's brawl. Officer Bayson, give Sam any files the police have on that store – the alarm system, security personnel, everything. Do it somewhere public where you wouldn't draw attention."

Alex grinned and said, "We know just the place, don't we Sam? I'll meet you at the café at three. Don't be late."

Officer Bayson shoved his chair out, patted down his trench coat, and vanished up the stairs. A minute after he left, Mr. Koborn finished his wine and said, "I've stayed too late. Don't you worry; I won't tell Mr. Deltoro a thing."

Kurt Koborn sauntered off, leaving Sam alone with Mr. Ducall.

"Hey kid, isn't it past your bedtime? Or do you feel like spending another night here?"

"I'll leave. Could I just have a minute alone down here?"

The lawyer shrugged. "Sure. Just lock up behind you." He smiled and said, "One thief in my office is plenty."

Once his footsteps faded out of hearing, Sam took out his four pokeballs and called out his pokemon. Luna, Cloud, Jaeger, and Aconite all stood in a circle in front of him, looking up at him. Sam averted his eyes and said, "I hope you can all forgive me for this, but it's becoming a jewel thief or the slammer. Will you help me?"

Luna walked forward and leaned against his leg. One by one, his pidgeot, weavile, and croagunk stepped forward, wrapping their wings and arms around him. Sam wiped tears out of his eyes and said, "Thank you."

Chapter Twenty: Just Go Home

Brandon Oak sat at his desk, examining the instructions on the torn cardboard package in front of him. Piles of books were shoved aside and set on the floor to make room for the package. Two more desks crowded his walls, one with an enormous desktop computer hooked up to three computer screens, and another holding bellsprout seedlings and oddish sprouts in the sunlight pouring through his window.

A gardevoir stood next to him, her hand on his shoulder as she watched him handle the package. She wore a gold cloth pendant with a clear, blue gem in the center that caught purple and green hues in the sunlight. Her long, white gossamer dress trailed to the floor, and her long, green hair was bundled into a ponytail in the back.

"Just place in a drink, and it'll stay in the system for 24 hours," he read to himself. "May cause harmful side effects in people with ulcers or recent surgery. Well, he's got neither. Now, how do I set this?"

Brandon took a small black box out of the package and pressed a button on the outside. It flashed blue, and a notification popped up on his tablet. Pressing 'okay', Brandon downloaded the box's software, and a GPS map popped up on his screen. A blue and a green blip appeared next to each other, where his house was on the map. He walked over to the bathroom, and the green blip moved to the right. The gardevoir followed after him, holding the small black box, and the blue dot moved with her. Brandon, surprised, looked up from his tablet and saw her in the doorway. She was holding the black box in her hands.

"Oh, thanks Marianne." He looked at the time and said, "He'll probably be there now." Brandon sat down on the toilet and put his hands on his face. "Oh Marianne, should I really be doing this? I know what he does is none of my business, but I'm worried. He hasn't been himself lately. I just… I just don't understand why he won't take my help."

Marianne leaned over him, covering him up with her dress, and wrapped her arms around him. Brandon reciprocated the embrace and rubbed his cheek against her shoulder.

"Thanks Marianne. I'm fine now." He stood up and said, "I hope Sam can forgive me for this."

Brandon walked towards the door. Marianne followed after him, but she stopped at the foyer, holding the banister of the grand staircase and staring at Brandon. He looked back at her, and his hand tightened around the black box.

"I – I'm sorry Marianne, I just can't–" Brandon stopped and lowered his eyes. Then he said, "Fine, just today. I'm going to need the support."

Marianne jumped and shouted, rushing up to Brandon's room and returning with a thin white scarf. She wrapped it around her neck and stepped outside.

"Good, you got that covered. Now let's go."

Marianne took his hand. Brandon caressed her fingers at first, and then he flinched and withdrew his hand. Marianne pulled her hand to her chest and walked a few feet behind him.

Together, they walked to the Checkered Café. Brandon went in first, looking around for Sam. He didn't see him until the trench coat-wearing man he saw last time stood and walked past him. Sam had a slim manila folder in one hand and an empty cup of tea in the other. Brandon cracked the box open behind his back, took out the tiny gel capsule, and hid it in his hand.

"Hey Sam!" he said, waving. "Doing well today?"

Sam put the manila folder on the seat next to Luna and smiled. "I'm alright." He looked around him and said, "Oh, Marianne came?"

"Yeah, she wanted to come today," Brandon said, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. "Maybe she's getting better around other people now."

Marianne frowned and looked away.

"That's great! So, you want a seat?"

"Oh, sure!" As Brandon pulled out the chair the man had, he asked, "That guy again?"

Sam looked away. "Yeah, I was giving him grooming tips."

"For his arcanine, right? Poor guy, I can't imagine all the hair he's got around his house."

Marianne took a chair next to Brandon. Luna blinked and wagged her ears at Marianne, and she answered with a small wave.

"So, want another cup of tea?" Brandon asked.

Sam shrugged. Brandon took his mug, turned, dropped the capsule inside, and walked up to the counter.

"Oh, I could've gotten that for you," the waitress said.

"That's alright. Could you refill this and give me and my gardevoir one too?"

"Sure!" Brandon watched the mug he handed her, and made sure to set it in front of Sam. While Brandon took a sip, Sam raised his mug and drained it all. Brandon scratched at his throat as he watched Sam swallow, and breathed out when he asked for another.

"So, did you come here for any particular reason?" Sam asked.

"No, just thought it'd be nice to get Marianne outside, since she was in the mood for it."

"Nice." Sam looked at his tablet and said, "Oh crap, I gotta go." He stood up, slipped the manila folder inside a backpack, and said, "Take it easy with Marianne, you don't want her getting to skittish."

"I will, thanks!" Brandon waited ten minutes, taking small sips of his tea. Marianne took a cautious sip before drinking the tea in big gulps and wiping her mouth with the scarf. Brandon watched her neck, as she handled the scarf.

Brandon took out Marianne's pokeball. "Alright, I think that's enough time."

She glowered at him, and he said, "Sorry, but this is a stealth mission. You stand out too much."

Marianne rolled her eyes and clicked the button on the pokeball. She vanished in a flash of red light, leaving Brandon alone with two mugs. He returned them to the waitress, handed her a twenty, and opened up the app on his tablet. Sam's blip appeared to the west, and Brandon followed it to Mr. Ducall's office. He stood on the other side of the street and watched the building. After half an hour, he closed up the app and checked his messages.

"Well, I guess he was telling the truth," Brandon muttered as he scrolled through all the Skype messages from Emily and his other friends. Before he turned away, he pulled out the app one last time, but the blue dot was gone. In a panic, he zoomed out the map and saw Sam's dot even further west, heading north. With a growing knot in his stomach, he raced into the alleys, running after the little blue dot. He ran and ran until he nearly bumped into a gentleman wearing piles of pokemon furs.

"Watch it, you oaf!" he shouted. Brandon looked up and shouted "Sorry," but when he saw the furs, he froze and looked around. Surrounded by costumes each more extravagant than the last, Brandon couldn't help but feel he drew the most eyes on the street. Staying close to the buildings, he followed the blue dot further west down that block, until he came upon a giant casino. The blue dot had stopped just beyond a small entrance on the building's right side. He followed after it, but he was stopped by the two guards outside the entrance.

"Pass please."

"Wait, what?"

"Your pass."

"Oh, uh, I – I don't have a pass. Could you, uh, just let me in for a minute? I think someone I know is here."

One guard cracked his knuckles and grabbed Brandon by the collar. "Listen, punk, you're not getting in without a pass. Now leave, or I'll make you!"

"B – but… but I-"

As the guard drew his fist back, a voice cut through the noisy street chatter, shouting with a muffled voice, "Victor, stop!" A figure in a black feathered suit, wearing a mask with a shining black beak, ran out of the lobby as the elevator doors on the far end opened.

The guard lowered his fist and set Brandon on the ground. "You know this kid, Feathers?"

"Yeah, he's with me. He doesn't have a pass though." The figure looked at him and said, "Or a mask. Could you get those for me? I'll settle it with Mr. Deltoro."

"Alright, then you can speak with him now," Victor said, handing the figure a radio. The figure took the radio inside for a minute before handing it back to the guard. Once the guard listened to the radio, he set it down and handed Brandon a silver card from his pocket.

"There you go. There's extra masks in the lockbox to the right. Be sure to return it when you leave."

"Thanks Victor," Feathers said. He dragged Brandon through by the arm and pushed him in front of the lockbox.

"Take one. You don't want to be seen down here."

Brandon looked through the selection, from pokemon designs to abstract patterns, and settled on a gardevoir mask with flowing green hair on top. He also took a long white robe and wrapped it around himself.

"Fitting," Feathers said.

"Wait, what?"

"I said it fits. Now let's go."

The doors had closed again, and it took a minute for the elevator to return. Brandon watched the lights as they blinked, marking their descent. When the doors opened, Brandon gawked at the huge stadium and all its luxurious seats. Feathers dragged him through the crowd to an empty table higher up the rings and waved a waiter over.

"Order whatever you want," Feathers said. "It's on me."

"Where's the menu?"

"There is none. Ask, and you shall receive."

Brandon panicked and asked for a hamburger, while Feathers asked for chicken curry. The waiter set two bottles of root beer on the table and strode to the kitchen. Feathers popped his open against the table, and Brandon followed suit, taking a tiny sip after he saw Feathers drink his.

Brandon took out his tablet and opened the tracking app, but none of the dots appeared on the screen. Instead, he saw an error message: signal lost. He looked up at the high concrete ceilings, then around at all the colorful, risqué costumes. "Thank you for saving me," Brandon told Feathers, "But would it be possible for me to leave now?"

The waiter returned, setting the dishes down on the table. Feathers spooned the bisque into his mouth. Once he was done, he said, "You don't want to go back out there alone, do you?"

Brandon looked around again and shook his head.

"I'll take you once I'm done." Feathers stood up, walked out of the booth, and closed it behind him. "Just sit tight, enjoy the show, and do not talk with anyone. Well, unless they're an old blind man by the name of Mr. Deltoro. You'll know him when you see him."

"Wait, where are you going?"

Feathers walked away, leaving Brandon alone in a sea of strangers. He hunched over in his chair and took a bite of the hamburger. A rush of greasy, meaty flavor infused with truffle oil washed over his tongue. Without pausing for a breath, he crammed every bite of hamburger, layered with sautéed portabella mushrooms, tender chunks of pork fat, and a tangy oriental sauce tinged with orange cognac, down his throat and into his stomach, where it sat like a swanna down pillow. He belched quietly into his hand and leaned back, looking down at the arena before gasping in shock. Even from his height, he could see blood as a breloom punched the teeth out of a mightyena's jaw and launched it into the air. With a roar of applause, the mightyena fell to the ground and stopped moving.

"And Feathers claims the first knockout of the match!"

As Feathers' opponent called out a houndoom, someone rapped on the door of Brandon's booth. An old man with scars across his eyes, standing in front of half a dozen uniformed guards, smiled at him.

"Pardon the intrusion," Mr. Deltoro said. "I just wanted to check up on the new guest of my establishment."

One guard opened the door, and Mr. Deltoro felt his way into the booth. His hands took a quick survey of the table before returning his side. "I hope you enjoyed the truffle burger. It's a favorite of mine, personally."

"Oh yeah, it was wonderful! It even rivals the restaurants on Randolph Street!"

"And are you enjoying the show?"

Brandon swallowed and said, "Oh, uh, y-yeah! I'm… enjoying it a lot!"

Mr. Deltoro chuckled. "You're a terrible liar, Brandon Oak." Brandon cringed behind his mask. "Now, I came here to give you some friendly advice. You see the rabbit masks in the crowd?"

Brandon looked around and spotted two leaning against a pillar, and a third stroking the chin of a tall, weasel-like man. "Yeah, some."

"They're all cops."

Brandon looked again, and he felt his heart rate climbing. "C – cops?"

"That's right. Everything you see here, the police turn a blind eye to. So, if you happen to walk into a police station and tell them what you saw here, I'm pretty sure they won't treat you well. So, Brandon, for your own good, tell no one what you saw here. Got it?"

Brandon quickly nodded, and Mr. Deltoro smiled. "Good. Enjoy the show. Sounds like it'll be over pretty soon."

Brandon looked down at the arena in time to see the houndoom fly into the kinetic barrier. One of its horns had snapped off, and the bony protrusions atop its left ribcage were cracked apart. The breloom had burn marks on its cap and right arm, and its legs wobbled as it raised its stumpy arms.

"And there's Morel with another knockout!" the announcer shouted. "Will Feathers claim yet another triple knockout tonight?"

The other brawler called out a vigoroth. Brandon looked back at the other side of the booth, but Mr. Deltoro had already left. He checked his tablet again, frowning at the signal lost error message before watching the rest of the match. Morel ducked and weaved around the vigoroths wild swipes, getting in small punches with every opening. However, after one slash, the vigoroth kicked at the breloom, sending him flying. The breloom landed on his feet, but the vigoroth loomed over him and landed a vicious blow on Morel, scraping its claws against his cap, drawing blood and a cloud of spores. Morel collapsed to the ground while the vigoroth gasped and choked on the spores it breathed in.

"Perfect," Feathers said over the intercom, calling back the breloom. "You did an excellent job Morel." Then he called out a Toxicroak, and with a swift uppercut, she ended the match.

Five minutes later, Feathers returned to the booth. "Let's go. Now."

Brandon rushed out of his chair and followed Feathers to the elevator. After Brandon returned the costume, Feathers led him down the alleyways and to the east.

"That isn't the type of area you just decide to take a stroll in," Feathers said. "What were you doing there?"

"I was… looking for someone."

Feathers didn't say anything else. After several blocks, Brandon started to recognize the area around his home.

"How do you know where I live?" Brandon asked.

After a pause, Feathers said "I don't. This is the quickest way out of danger."

"Oh." After another block, Brandon asked, "Why did you save me?"

Again, Feathers paused. "Because I felt like it."

Brandon stopped and took out his tablet. The blue dot appeared right in front of his green, steadily moving away from him as Feathers kept walking. When Feathers stopped, the dot stopped. Brandon felt a chill run down his spine, and his jaw trembled. He stuck his tongue in between his teeth to keep them from chattering.

"Keep moving," Feathers said. "I don't have all night."

"Sam," Brandon said. To his own ears, his voice sounded cold as ice.

Sam turned towards him, silent at first, then he said, with a meticulously even voice, "You've had a long night. Just go home."

Brandon took a deep breath and clenched his fist. "I put a tracking chip in your tea. I – I was worried. You weren't yourself lately, and I wanted – needed to know what was going on. I'm sorry, but... I'll have to tell the police."

For a long minute, Sam fell silent. Then he removed his mask and set it on the ground.

"You remember the man in the café?" Sam asked. "The cop with the trench coat?"

"Yeah? What about him?"

"He's my boss."

"Your – wait, your boss?"

"That's right. I'm working undercover."

"You mean, like all those rabbit masks?"

"Yep."

"But – but why? How? When?"

Sam put back on his mask. "It's a long story that I can't tell you. All you need to know is that's how I'm getting my scholarship."

"But that's insane! You could've just taken my dad's money–"

"I don't want your damn money!" Sam shouted. The mask made him sound like a feral beast. "Just – just go home Brandon. Go home and forget everything that happened here."

"But – but why Sam?"

Sam turned away and vanished down an alley. Brandon stared down the alley for a few minutes before turning away and walking home. When he got back, he snuck upstairs, collapsed onto his bed, and called out Marianne. The gardevoir rushed to his side and stroked his head, wiping the tears from his eyes.

"Thanks Marianne. I… I just… I don't know what to feel right now. I need to sleep."

Brandon gave Marianne a kiss on the lips, moved over as she got into the bed, and placed an arm over her as he pulled up the sheets. Though they slept in the gentle blue glow of their two gems, the light could not dispel the shadows of Mr. Deltoro's arena in Brandon's mind.


	11. Chapters 21-22

Chapter Twenty-One: Fractures

Mr. Ducall twirled a black feather in his fingers as he sipped wine at the basement's table. "So, that friend of yours doesn't suspect anything?"

"Not right now. Seems like he bought my story."

"You do realize he's going to have a lot of questions when a 'cop' steals from a jewelry store." He shook his head and set the feather down, on a silver briefcase in front of him. "That said, I think it went as well as it could. Let's worry about that after you make the heist."

"You have a plan for that, right?"

Mr. Ducall shoved the briefcase forward. "Everything you need is in there – instructions, darts, smoke bombs, residue-free gloves and shoes, flashbangs, the works. I also had your costume modified. Give it a try."

Sam took his outfit out of the closet and threw the jacket on. As he slid his arms through the sleeves, he felt a thin plastic frame sewn into the jacket. A thin black loop stuck out at the end of each sleeve.

Mr. Ducall poured himself more wine and said, "Put the loops on your middle fingers, and pull the left."

Sam stuck his fingers through the loops and felt string uncoiling from inside the sleeve. When he gave the left one a tug, he felt a tiny ball roll into his hand, just small enough to squeeze between his thumb and middle finger.

Mr. Ducall turned away from Sam. "Snap your fingers with that inside, and you'll create a huge flash. Anyone looking at that'll be blind for a while."

Sam stared at the tiny black ball as he snapped his fingers. The ball ignited with a tiny spark, and a brilliant white flash seared his eyes. He stumbled back, knocking over a chair as he fell to the floor.

"You idiot," Mr. Ducall said, "Didn't I say that would blind you?"

"What about the one on the right?" Sam bent his wrist forward, and a larger black sphere the size of a marble rolled into his hands.

"A smokescreen. Throw one on the ground, and it'll make a smoke cloud large enough to hide a school bus." He turned towards Sam and said, "I swear to god, use that in here and I will kill you."

Sam imagined the click of a revolver, and his hand tightened around the smoke bomb. Very carefully, he stood, opened the briefcase, and put it in the box with other smoke bombs. Then he took out a sheet of paper with the lawyer's smooth handwriting written in black ink. Step by step instructions, along with other contingency plans, were laid out in bullet points. Sam couldn't quite read them for a few minutes, until his vision cleared up from the flash. Once he was able to read, he scoured the list multiple times before saying "There's no way it'll be this easy. What about the security systems!"

"I know a guy. He'll disable the systems and leave the cameras rolling. All you have to do is take care of the guards and smile for the camera. Oh, and leave a feather there. Keep a few on you, just in case one gets broken or something."

Sam took three feathers and put them in his coat pocket. Then he took the paper, folded it twice, stuck it in his pants pocket, and turned towards the tunnels.

"See you later," Sam said.

The sun had almost set when Sam popped open an alleyway manhole, heaved himself out, and started walking towards the commercial district. The cityscape transformed from decrepit buildings and cracked concrete to carefully manicured lawns, brightly painted residences, and pristine streets within three blocks. Sam kept away from the brightly lit suburban streets, keeping watch from the shadows. After following the suburb for two blocks, he saw a family gathered on a lawn on the far side of the street. A little girl played with a jigglypuff while her father filmed it. Sam stopped for a second to watch them.

"So sweetie, do you like your birthday present?" the mother asked.

"Yes! Oh yes oh yes oh yes!" the girl shouted, squeezing the pink puffball. The jigglypuff squealed, wriggled out of the girl's grasp and ran towards the street, just as an old, beaten car roared around a corner. The car raced towards the jigglypuff. The little girl ran after it, but the mother dashed after her and held her back at the curb.

"No, Puff Puff! Let me go!"

As Sam watched, time once again seemed to slow down. The car sluggishly crawled down the street, and the girl flailed as though she were drowning in honey. Sam's body acted on its own will, propelling him out of the alley, over a fence, across a pool, through a hedge, and into the street. He saw himself, likewise in slow motion, soar towards the Jigglypuff as the car inched closer. His arms wrapped around the pokemon, and his momentum carried them both forward. The car slammed into his left foot, and in his heightened awareness, he felt the bones in his ankle buckle back before snapping, but adrenaline kept him from feeling any pain, and once he reached the sidewalk, he rolled to a stop and sprang onto his feet, and the sense of slowed time faded away. His grasp on the jigglypuff slipped, and the puffy pokemon ran back to the little girl. The family stood transfixed as they stared at the feathered figure that sprang out of the alley.

Sam snapped his right hand forward, wrapped his fingers around the smokebomb, and tossed it onto the ground. Smoke enveloped the sidewalk in a thirty foot radius, engulfing both himself and the family in the yard. His mask kept the smoke out, and an infra-red display snapped up in front of his eyes, letting him see in the blinding smoke. Using the bodies in front of him as a reference, he turned back towards the alley and sprinted into the darkness.

Once he was well out of sight, he sat down in the alley and pulled up his pants. The ankle had swelled up to twice the size, and no matter how he pulled, he couldn't get his shoe off. His fingers slipped on his phone as he dialed his lawyer, and after accidentally calling Emily, he finally got a hold of Peter Ducall.

"I broke my ankle," he blurted.

"Wait, what? How the fuck did you break your ankle?"

"I saved a pokemon. I know, it was stupid. I couldn't help it."

"Fuck! Did you at least make it to the jewelry store yet?"

"Not yet. I'm a few blocks away."

"Then hurry the fuck up! You're going to miss the shift change!"

"But my ankle-"

"Wrap your other sock around the ankle and tie it tight. You don't have time for a doctor."

Sam pressed the phone against his ear with his shoulder while he took off his other shoe, peeled off his sock, and wrapped it around his broken ankle. He held back a scream as he tied it as tight as he could. "Couldn't we do this some other night?" he said through gritted teeth.

"Absolutely not! Once they figure out they were hacked, they'll change the security system. It's now or never."

Sam stood on his one good leg. "Fine, but you better have a doctor ready."

"You're paying the bill."

Sam hung up and took out Aconite's pokeball, calling out the froglike pokemon.

"My ankle's broken," he told the toxicroak. "Help me over, would you?"

Aconite lent him a shoulder as he hobbled down to Sableye's Jewelry Emporium. He watched the eight men standing outside its doors from an alley on the opposite side of the street and took out the instructions. The first step told him to get to the roof and spray sleep powder on top of them when the four third shift guards came to replace the second shift. Each guard had a pokemon standing next to them – five mightyena, a noctowl, and two vigoroth.

"Damn it, they're already here," Sam muttered. "I'll have to improvise." He called out Morel and Cloud.

"Morel, use sleep powder, and Cloud, guide it over with tailwind."

Cloud flapped his wings, creating a gust that surged down the street. Morel's powder drifted in the wind across the street and towards the shop. One by one, the mightyena and humans dropped to the sidewalk, and the three alert pokemon looked around in confusion.

Sam called out Jaeger and said, "Jaeger, Aconite, use mach punch and ice shard. Finish them off without a sound."

Jaeger flung icy daggers at the noctowl while Aconite raced across the street and decked the vigoroth with two swift punches. Sam limped across the street, took the pokeballs off the human guards, and called back all the unconscious pokemon. Then he read the next step, walked up to the door, and flung it open. The door's lock system made a cute jingling sound as he walked inside. He walked past all the other displays, trailing his fingers on the glass, as he approached the huge gold necklace with a giant red gem sitting in a glass case towards the back of the store. He gave a camera a quick wave before he picked up the case, set it down, and stuffed the necklace into his pocket. Then he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his feathers. There were only two. Swearing silently at himself, Sam placed the feather on the display, returned the glass case, and walked out the front door. His pokemon were waiting outside the store, and they cheered when he held up the necklace.

"Alright, let's go. Jaeger, the manhole cover please."

Jaeger popped the nearest manhole open with a flick of his claws. Sam called back his pokemon and headed down the manhole, replacing the cover behind him. As he went down the ladder, his foot slipped, and he fell all the way down, landing on his feet. He couldn't hold back that scream, which echoed down the tunnels and stirred up a few rattata. He clutched at his swollen ankle and massaged his calf, numbing the pain by a slim margin. Then he called out Aconite, Morel, and Jaeger.

"My foot's getting worse, guys. I don't think I can walk by myself."

His pokemon nodded, and to his surprise, they picked him up and carried him down the tunnels. He read out the directions on the paper, and after an hour, they made it back to the lawyer's basement. Sam stood and strained to open the door, but with his broken ankle, he couldn't turn the wheel to open the door, and his other pokemon couldn't reach. After a quick phone call, Mr. Ducall opened the door.

"Damn kid, you're not looking good."

Sam took out the necklace, and faintly said, "Score."

"Good. Now, let's get you on the couch. I told your mother you passed out again, that whole story, which I'm guessing is going to be the truth any second now."

"The… the feather…"

"Wait, you didn't forget to leave the feather, did you?"

"No… missing feather… I dropped one…"

"Don't worry. They'll think it came from some random bird. Now, lay down, and let's see that ankle."

Sam shouted as the lawyer lightly grazed his ankle. The sock tied around his ankle was stretched to the breaking point, and the pressure his swollen ankle put on his shoe made the shoelaces come undone.

"God fucking damn, that's a bad break. What the hell happened?"

"Got hit by a car…"

Sam reached on his belt and dropped Luna's pokeball. She leapt onto his lap and gave his ankle a worried stare.

"Sorry you missed all the fun," Sam told Luna. "You're too traceable, couldn't use you. Just keep me company, would you?"

Sam's eyes started to shut, and the lawyer panicked. "No, don't pass out yet! At least get new pants first; I can't have the doc see you like this!"

"Goodnight," Sam mumbled. "I'll just do it in the morning."

The last thing Sam heard before he drifted off was the lawyer's violent and profuse swearing. He tried to chuckle, but his mouth wouldn't move.

Then, darkness swirled around in his head. Sam stared into a void too dark to be described as merely black – it seemed to erase the very concept of light in his mind. Then, out of the darkness emerged a single, brilliant blue eye that stared at him all night, and no matter how hard Sam tried, he couldn't look away.

Chapter Twenty-Two: Changes

When Sam opened his eyes Wednesday morning, he couldn't see. He reached for the lamp in his bedroom, but his hand met only empty air. He leaned further over and rolled off the couch.

"Watch it!" Mr. Ducall said. To Sam's ears, the lawyer's voice sounded like sandpaper rubbing against itself. "Don't mess up your foot more!"

"Hey," Sam groaned, "Could you turn the lights on?"

"The lights are on! What are you, bl-" The lawyer choked on the unspoken word. Sam felt him grab his shoulders. The man's hands felt like molten iron against his skin.

"Come on, how many fingers am I holding up?"

"I don't… can't see…" Flickers of color appeared in Sam's vision, and bit by fuzzy bit, he saw a vague cream-colored shape in front of him.

"Move your hand left," Sam said. The lawyer moved his hand to Sam's right at first, and then he changed direction, moving his hand in front of the light.

"Th – three," Sam said.

"Okay, phew! You had me scared there. You feeling okay?"

Sam moaned and said, "Fuck no. What the hell happened to me?"

"You broke your ankle, remember? The doctor's going to be here in ten minutes, and you're still in costume. We got to get you into your other clothes."

Sam tried to stand, but he couldn't even lift his arms an inch off the ground. "Can't get up," Sam mumbled.

Mr. Ducall grabbed at his hair, and then he said, "Have your pokemon do it. I can't touch you! So, just call them out!"

Sam's hand inched to his belt, and he pressed the first button his fingers found. With a red flash, Aconite appeared next to him. Sam could only recognize her by her striking purple and orange coloring.

"Hey, Aconite… bathroom… other clothes…"

The croagunk nodded and pressed more pokeballs open. With Morel and Jaeger helping, the three pokemon dragged Sam into the bathroom and grabbed his clothes. As they peeled off Sam's clothes, Sam felt his senses return. The white smear of the bathroom walls splashed with green, purple, and black resolved themselves into distinct objects, and the muffled ringing in his ears silenced itself, giving way to the soft rustle of clothes and concerned mumbles of his pokemon. Once they got his jacket off and replaced with a musky t-shirt, Sam recovered enough to stand and wash his face at the sink.

"Hey, thanks guys, I got it from here." As he turned the faucet on, he suddenly realized he was standing on his broken ankle. In a panic, he sat back down and rolled the pants up around his left foot. The sock he tied there the previous night had fallen off his ankle, hanging limply around his shoe, and not a hint of red remained around his ankle. He grazed the skin with his fingertip, then applied more and more pressure until his finger trembled, but he felt no pain. Beneath the press of his palm, no trace remained of the fractures in his ankle. With shaking hands, he slid his shoes and pants off, replacing them with his regular clothes, and then he walked out of the bathroom.

The lawyer's jaw dropped when he saw Sam. "Hey, don't walk on that ankle!"

"It's fine, somehow. It's not broken." Sam walked over to him, put his foot on the table, and pulled up his pants leg. "See?"

Mr. Ducall leaned over. "How the hell did the swelling go down that fast?" Then he shrugged and said, "You must've overreacted. No way that ankle was broken."

"But it was! I even felt the bones break."

"Then explain how it's not broken now. Bones don't heal in a day!" The lawyer rubbed his chin and said, "Good thing I only told your mom you rolled your ankle. This way we can pass it off as me overreacting."

The receptionist spoke through the intercom, announcing the doctor's arrival. Peter Ducall chuckled and said, "Have fun kid."

The lawyer walked upstairs, and moments later, Doctor Drake waltzed into the room. He set his briefcase down on the table and pulled out his pocketwatch.

"I won't look into the pocketwatch, like last time," Sam said quickly.

Doctor Drake chuckled and adjusted his glasses. "I'm glad you remember, but this time, I want you to look."

"Oh, okay."

"No no no, repeat-"

"I will look into the pocket watch this time," Sam interrupted.

"Good. Let's begin."

When the doctor opened the pocket watch, Sam lowered his gaze to its contents. Inside, all he saw was a glowing purple vial. At first, but he felt nothing, but the longer he stared, the more he felt his skin crawl. His head spun, and if he hadn't eaten since before the heist, he would've retched all over the doctor's immaculate shoes. Once his gaze slipped from the purple vial, the symptoms vanished.

"Well, that was interesting," the doctor said.

"What was?"

"You noticed the syringe this time. Now, would you mind if I took my sample?"

Sam looked down at his left arm. Out of reflex, he had grabbed the syringe by the base and was holding it an inch away from his vein. With a heavy sigh, Sam let go of the needle, and it slipped into his arm without the slightest bit of pain. A minute later, it snuck out, leaving only a tiny red dot to mark its departure.

"Seems like the medicine's working," the doctor told Sam, "But we'll need to double the dose. I'll check on you again in a week."

Sam frowned. "Looking forward to it."

The doctor grabbed his suitcase and turned to leave, but he paused with his foot right above the second step. "This is why I always repeat things," the doctor muttered. "I'm forgetting something."

Sam glanced around the room, and then he remembered. "Oh, my ankle."

"What about it? There's nothing wrong with either of your ankles."

"How–"

"Your face would be flushed if you had anything worse than a sprain. Now I really must be going, I'm late as is." The doctor ran up the stairs, four steps at a time, and slammed the door behind him.

When the lawyer returned downstairs, Sam cleaned up the costume strewn about the bathroom, said goodbye to Mr. Ducall, and ran home. When he went through the front door, his mother was sitting at the counter with a plate of scrambled eggs and a glass of orange juice laid out for him. A glistening, sky-blue pot large enough to hide a small child sat on the counter's other end.

Martha looked up, and when she saw Sam, she rushed over and squeezed him in a huge hug.

"Oh Sam! I didn't know what to think when I heard you fell down the stairs! Please be more careful, okay?"

Sam's lethargic brain lagged a few seconds before he pieced together everything she said. "I will. I think I forgot the dose that morning, so that's why it happened."

"Well, I'll make sure you're getting what the doctor tells you to take," she said, placing two purple pills on the counter. Sam scooped them up and swallowed them with a swig of orange juice. That tiny bit in his stomach made him painfully aware he hadn't eaten for sixteen hours, and he crammed forkfuls of scrambled eggs into his mouth, washing each bite down with more orange juice. As he ate, his mother made toast and buttered it. She set it on his plate, and within moments, only crumbs remained. Even after he finished a whole plate of eggs, Sam rummaged through the fridge and shoved slices of hard salami into his mouth.

"You didn't eat dinner last night, did you?"

"Didn't get the chance to," Sam answered. As he turned back towards the counter, carrying a block of cheese and a bag of roast beef, his arm bumped into the vase. It wobbled, teetering close to the edge, before it toppled towards the floor. As Sam reached for it, everything slowed down. The vase fell with graceful leisure, while his hand crept towards it with frantic, sluggish necessity.

With the alteration in his perception of time came an enhanced sense of detail. As all the world shuddered to a near standstill, his brain had time to process every detail, from a tiny butterfree that flitted past the window to beads of moisture forming on the sink's faucet.

Martha's face first drew his attention. It felt as though he hadn't seen her in years – really seen the faint traces of wrinkles around her eyes, the subtle furrow in her brow, a slight droop in the skin on her face that betrayed her otherwise youthful visage.

Then Sam's attention returned to the vase. Even as slow as the vase fell, he couldn't thrust his hand forward fast enough to catch it. Still, he kept moving forward, willing himself to catch the vase, until, suddenly, the vase stopped moving. For a second, Sam believed it a trick of his eyes, and he stopped his own hand to watch it. He flicked his thumb in and out, verifying that time itself still moved, but through the minutes he spent in temporal limbo, the vase did not move.

And then time returned to its normal pace. Sam could tell because all the vivid, crisp details blurred into mundane resolution. But for one second longer, just long enough for Sam to tell himself he wasn't crazy, the vase stayed aloft, suspended by an intangible force. One second, and then it fell, cracking in half when it hit the floor. His mother ran around the counter and gasped at the broken pottery on the floor.

"Sorry mom, it slipped out of my hands."

Martha picked up the two halves and pressed them together, forming a seamless whole before they parted again. "Don't worry Sam, it's nothing a little glue can't take care of."

While his mother took the pottery shards to her bedroom, Sam ran upstairs and locked the bedroom door. He took a pencil from the coffee mug, held it on his outstretched hand, and focused all his attention on it, willing the pencil to float off of his fingertips. For twenty minutes, all that rose was his temper, but then, for a split second, he felt power coalescing around him, enriching his room in blurred patches. He chased after the fleeting power, wrestled it into his grasp, and felt it wash over him. His mind became flooded with the room's details, from faint depressions left by his footprints to the tiniest of crumbs from a chocolate chip cookie he ate two months ago, buried in the depths of the carpet beneath his desk.

Sam focused all his attention on the pencil, demanding that it defy gravity. After a millisecond stretched out into minutes, the pencil complied, rising imperceptibly at first, but gaining momentum until it moved as fast as he could throw it, halting exactly an inch above his hand. With a bewildered smile, Sam made the pencil float higher, perform flips, walk across the ceiling, split apart and reattach, peel apart like an orange, dissolve into powder and reform, burn and regrow from the ashes. All the while, pressure built up in his head, slight at first, but the more elaborate the trick he tried, the tighter the invisible vice squeezed around his skull. Then, as he debated stopping, blinding pain seared through his left eye, and for a brief second, he saw the clear, blue eye that had haunted his dreams last night. The world snapped back into mundane blandness, and Sam fell onto his bed, grasping his wounded eye, struggling to stay awake as drowsiness suffocated him.

With one last desperate effort, Sam flung himself onto his feet, and with that rush of vertigo, the pressure vanished. Sam took a deep breath, holding a hand over his rapidly beating heart, put twenty dollars in his wallet, and left for the Checkered Café.


	12. Chapters 23-24

Chapter Twenty-Three: Closed Doors

Brandon was sitting in Sam's usual spot in the café. Sam saw him just before he walked through the doors, and he debated leaving. As he turned away from the door, he clenched his fingers together, took a deep breath, and shoved his way inside. He took a seat in front of Brandon, and a second later, the waitress poured him a cup of tea.

"Marianne isn't here today?" Sam asked.

Brandon looked away. "She didn't feel like coming today."

"Oh, that's too bad. I hope I didn't scare her off."

Brandon opened his mouth, but he stopped himself. Instead, he took out his tablet and played a news clip – one of a black, feathered thief robbing Sableye's Jewelry Emporium.

"Isn't that crazy?" Brandon asked. His voice was as cold and hard as granite. "Some feathered weirdo robbed the jewelry store and took just one piece."

Sam shrugged his tense shoulders. "Maybe he didn't have enough room for the rest."

Brandon's eyes narrowed, and he said, "You should come over, after your drama meeting. It's been a while since you visited, and dad was hoping to talk to you."

Sam checked his tablet. Twenty messages from Emily cluttered his inbox, each titled with increasingly vocal titles reminding him of the final plan meeting.

"Yeah, I think I can make it. How does seven sound?"

"Sounds perfect." Brandon took his mug to the counter and paid the waitress. After he left, Sam tapped his foot on the floor and looked around the café. Aside from himself, none of the checkered seat cushions had any occupants. With a sigh, Sam chugged the rest of his tea, left the money on the table, and left. He checked the time, and though he'd be a half an hour early, he decided to go to school. He walked up to the front entrance, checking each door before he found the unlocked one, wound his way through the empty hallways, and into Room 305. To his surprise, Emily was sitting on the teacher's desk, swinging her legs over the edge and staring at the door.

"Oh, hi Sam. You got my message."

"Message?" Sam opened one of the emails, and saw that Emily had asked him to arrive early. "Oh, I didn't read them, sorry."

"That's okay, you're here anyways."

Silence fell between them, broken apart only by the ticking of the clock above Emily's head. Then, after a minute, Emily asked flatly, "What happened between you two?"

"Who, me and Brandon? You mean the whole money thing?"

"Not that, after. Something happened a couple nights ago, and since then, Brandon hasn't been himself at all."

"Ask him, it's got nothing to do with me."

"He keeps dodging the question." Emily frowned at him. "And I know it's you, Sam. Brandon's a terrible actor."

"Then I don't know what it is." Sam sat down and propped his feet up on another desk. "What do you care anyway?"

"I'm sick of him being that way." Emily looked away and said, "I was hoping everything would go back to normal after his apology, but it's only getting worse, and now you won't even tell me why."

"There's nothing to tell. People drift apart, Emily, it just happens."

"Emily slammed her hands on the desk. She winced and massaged her palms, then she sighed and asked, "Why did I even bother? Alright then, how about this? I'll go out on a date with you if you tell me."

"I'll pass."

"Wait, what! I was just joking, Jesus Christ! You could've at least pretended to be shocked."

"You pull that stunt every other week."

"True. I guess that's what makes it hard to-" Emily's face reddened and she looked away. "Nevermind." She ducked down and rummaged through her bag, bringing out a bundle of papers and handing them to Sam.

"Here's the script we're going to discuss. You might as well read it, since you've got the hardest part.

Sam glossed through the script, a student-written tragedy set in a school, centered around an unrequited love triangle and manipulated by a scorned nerd into absolute bedlam. Sam guessed he was the nerd from the flair put into the fictional character's lines.

"Most of the other characters are pretty generic," Sam said, "But I think it'll work. Won't push the budget too much either, we could get more creative with the set."

"You think you could handle it?"

Sam slicked back his hair and made his voice high-pitched and nasal. "Who do you think you're talking to? Such a lovely lady like yourself should know that I am quite the professional."

Emily giggled. "That's fantastic! I wish I could do that." Then her smile vanished, and she turned around. Sam thought about something to say, but he was interrupted by the arrival of another actor.

"Oh, you're already here?" she asked. "Wow, I thought I'd be the first."

Emily turned around and gave her a forced smile. "You know me, I gotta make sure everything's perfect! Just, uh, wanted to review the script with Sam, since he has a lot of lines."

"Oh, nice! Can I see?"

More club members trickled in, and each one read over the script before suggesting edits and offering praise. After two hours of practicing a few lines, deciding the casting, setting up a budget, and brainstorming costume ideas, the club members parted ways. Emily slipped out first and rushed through the hallways, but Sam caught up to her just outside of the school entrance. She glanced back and walked even faster away from him.

"Hey, I'm going over to Brandon's. Want to come along?"

Emily stopped and turned around. She clenched her hand and said, "You just want me to come along so you don't have to talk it out, don't you?"

"No, it's not that, it's – nevermind."

As Sam turned away, Emily picked up a rock, roared, and threw it at him. Sam's senses sharpened, to the point that he could hear the rustling of air as the stone flew through the air. He broke out into a cold sweat, and he told himself over and over not to use it, forcing himself to face forward, to not turn and pluck the stone from the air, or, worse yet, block it with his mind. Heartbeat after laborious heartbeat, Sam forced himself to keep moving his leg forward and keep his back straight. Then, without warning, time resumed its normal pace, and the stone flew into his lower back, stinging slightly and leaving a small bruise.

"You jackass!" Emily shouted. "I'm sick and tired of you acting that way! Why can't you just… you just… you always shut yourself out from everyone around you! Why can't you tell other people what's going on, what you're feeling?"

Sam clenched his fists and whirled around. A nasty grin crept onto his face. "You want to know how I feel? I don't like it when you throw rocks at me."

Before Emily could say another word, Sam left. He wandered aimlessly for a few minutes, fuming over Emily's words and massaging the bruise on his backside.

"Jeez, what got into her?"

Sam looked around and saw that he had walked within a block of the Checkered Café, but he walked past it, heading instead towards Brandon's house. He ventured further north, into progressively wealthier residential districts, before he reached the Oak Estate. The three-story residence sat square in the center of a hilly, grassy plot of land. A driveway wound from the street, through a wrought iron gate, in the valleys of the hills, and up to a small garage set apart from the residence. Rough gray stone in a variety of shapes and sizes, glued together with a sparkling silver mortar, lined the walls of the house, and the roof had glossy slate tiles. There were few windows, and most were obscured with blue curtains.

Sam walked up to the front door, an oak slab that towered over him, and rang the doorbell. Moments later, Brandon opened the door. Marianne stood on the stairs behind him, while Brandon's father watched from the living room.

"You made it!"

Sam forced a smile on his face. "I managed to get some time off."

"Good, you needed it. Let's go into my room, shall we?"

Sam waved at the professor as he walked up the stairs. They took two flights up and walked into the second room on the left, into Brandon's room. Brandon plopped onto his bed and pulled out his laptop, while Marianne leaned against a wall next to a window. Sam examined the oddish sprouts while watching the crack under the door.

"Care to explain what you're doing robbing a jewelry store?" Brandon asked.

Sam rushed over and pushed the laptop closed. "What the hell are you doing, what if your dad hears us?"

"Relax, Sam. The room's completely soundproof. I had it done for my last birthday."

"Really? Why?"

Brandon blushed and looked away. "The lab can get noisy sometimes, and it makes Marianne uncomfortable. Anyways, what the hell are you doing?"

"I can't tell you."

Brandon scowled at him. "Were you lying to me? I – you're no jewelry thief Sam. Why the hell are you doing this?"

Sam sighed and raised his head towards the ceiling. For a whole minute, he stared, tapping his finger on his leg while he thought through his options. Then he sighed again and looked at Brandon.

"I suppose I'm allowed to tell you this much. It's the exit strategy."

"The – the what?"

"Think, Brandon. I can't just disappear from a place like that without a reason. If what I need to do gets done and I disappear, who do you think they'll suspect?"

The scowl on Brandon's face vanished, replaced with a pensive stare. "But, couldn't you get arrested for brawling?"

Sam paused for another moment, this time staring at the miniature bellsprout as they wriggled around in the damp soil. "I could, but do you really think cops go around arresting people there? I need a better reason to get arrested."

"So, let me get this straight. You're robbing jewelry stores so you can get arrested for it?"

"Yep. The cops will lock Feathers behind bars, and I get government funding as a reward."

"That sounds crazy…" Brandon shrugged and said, "But this whole thing is crazy."

Brandon forced a chuckle. "You said it."

Brandon opened the computer up, showing an online video of Sam robbing the store. Sam looked at the view count and hid a smile at the half-a-million views. They watched it through together before another video suggestion popped up on the screen – him, hand inches away from the jigglypuff as a car rushed closer.

"Oh, that reminds me," Brandon said, "Is this one also you?"

He clicked on the video. It had twice as many views as the jewelry heist. The video started when the jigglypuff ran into the road, and it ended the moment the smoke cleared, revealing the lone black feather he left behind.

Brandon scrolled down to the comment section. "How did you even make that run?"

"I don't know," Sam said, rubbing the back of his head, "I just went."

"Well, it's amazing. Look at these comments. They're all calling you the Black Crow, and there's rumors left and right."

Sam glanced at the comments. Then he took the computer and kept scrolling, taking in every word of praise and speculation. The other video had a similar volley of comments, all focused on the timing of the two events, the feather left behind, and his costume, arguing back and forth whether they're the same person.

"Wow, I'm popular."

"Yeah, you even made the news." Brandon typed in PNC Black Crow, and it brought up a news reel. They watched it through, listening as the reporter highlighted everything the videos showed, along with a declaration from the police that they'd catch this serial thief.

"Well, looks like it's working," Brandon said. "Sorry I doubted you, this was so confusing I didn't know what to think."

"It's fine. Just make sure to stay out of it. You don't want to get dragged into this too."

Brandon laughed. "Yeah, one night was enough for me." He looked at the time and said, "Should you go?"

"Yeah, I should. See ya. Bye Marianne."

The gardevoir smiled and waved as Sam walked out the door. Brandon closed the door shut behind him, and it sealed with a soft sucking sound. He walked down the stairs, but as he was about to leave, Professor Thaddeus Oak stopped him.

"Samuel! Would you mind coming into my lab? I'd like to sample some of Luna's fur. I need fresh samples for research."

Sam paused and thought it over. Then he shrugged and said, "Why not?"

Thaddeus led him through a soundproofed locked door, down an elevator, and into his lab. The white-tile floor gleamed in the LED light, and the white counters were immaculately cleaned. Streamlined research equipment lined the walls, equipped with an array of screens and buttons. On one end, a shelf fifty feet long held row after row of pokeballs, each one labeled with a name and number.

Thaddeus took a clippers from the drawer, and Sam called out Luna. The professor took hair from her rings and her tail, putting each sample into its own labeled vial. While he was gathering hair from her twitching ears, Sam walked around the lab and looked closer at the equipment. At one station, a sophisticated microscope fitted with sensors Sam didn't recognize, he felt a familiar headache. When he got closer, nausea welled up in his stomach, and the room started spinning. He stepped back, and the illness faded away.

"Hey, what's this over here?" Sam asked, pointing at the microscope.

"Oh, that?" Thaddeus set the vials of hair on a counter and walked over to the microscope. "This is a top priority project from Sinex. They want these cells thoroughly examined."

Sam watched the professor closely, but he showed no sign of a headache. "And what are they exactly?"

Thaddeus shrugged. "I have no clue. I haven't even been able to observe them properly, thanks to all the interference." Then he furrowed his brow and said, "I think I've kept you long enough. You should hurry back home."

Sam looked one last time at the samples before the professor led him upstairs. "Thanks for the tour!"

The professor laughed and said, "Thanks for the samples!"

Sam walked towards the door as the professor returned to his lab. However, before he left, Sam decided to ask Brandon about those samples. He walked up the stairs and stopped in front of Brandon's room, his hand poised to knock when a question occurred to him. The lab was soundproofed, so why was his room soundproofed too? Sam listened, and realized he could hear the gentle hum of machinery through the walls. He shrugged and told himself it must be enough to distress Marianne.

But as he started his knock, again he stopped himself with another question. If Marianne would be bothered by this much, how could she stand a busy street? Sam rationalized question after question, but he couldn't shake the feeling that Brandon was hiding something behind that soundproofed door. The longer he stood there, thinking over why he would have his door, the more determined he became that he had a secret and the greater his urge to fling the door open.

Sam placed his hand on the doorknob, took a deep breath, and flung the door open.

Brandon and Marianne sat on the bed, arms wrapped around each other and faces pressed together. They and Sam froze. Even the bellsprouts shrank back from the tension in the room. Then, after a minute, Sam turned around and said, "I'll just forget this ever happened."

"Wait!" Brandon shouted. His face blushed furiously, and his hands shook. "It – it isn't what it looks like! We… we were just…"

Sam closed his eyes and examined a breath coming in through his nostrils, filling his lungs before rushing back out through his lips. Then he closed the door and sat in a chair.

"Is Marianne fine with it?"

"W-what?"

Sam repeated himself, this time emphasizing every word.

Brandon looked down and squeezed his blankets. "Uh, y-yeah. It's, uh-"

"And is anyone else involved?"

"Well, uh, I – I guess not?"

"Then what's bad about it?"

Brandon blushed furiously and looked at him. "Y-you don't think it's bad?"

"It's weird as fuck, Brandon, but I wouldn't call it wrong."

"But – but why?"

Sam leaned back in his chair. "If everyone involved agrees to it, and you're not hurting anyone, then what's the harm? That's what I think." Then Sam stood and stretched his arms. "I'll leave you two to it then. Good night."

"Hey wait! You won't tell anyone, will you?"

Sam gave a casual wave and said, "You're not telling my secrets, so I won't tell yours."

With that, Sam closed the door and walked home. When he tucked himself into bed, he asked himself, "What the heck's gotten into everyone?"

Chapter Twenty-Four: Deltoro's Promise

Kurt Koborn hoisted his wine glass into the air, showering the table with red droplets. He swayed a bit as he stood, and his flushed grin displayed purple teeth. "Drinks all around, drinks all around! Don't be shy, it's all on me tonight!"

Sam raised his bottle of root beer and clinked it against the CEO's wine glass. "Thanks, but I'll be sticking to root beer."

"Come on, live a little! You're a celebrity now! There isn't a news station that isn't talking about you on the six o clock news, and there isn't a newspaper that doesn't have you as their headline! Saving that jigglypuff was the icing on the cake, Crow, that was some brilliant thinking!"

Sam took a swallow of root beer and wiped his mouth. "It's a bit weird, having a new name. So, what do you think of tonight's match?"

Mr. Koborn laughed and spilled some wine onto his lap. One of his guards rushed forward and mopped it up with a cloth towel. "A total pushover! At this rate, Crow, you'll be one of the top fighters here! And with everyone betting big on your matches, you'll get a larger slice of pie too."

A knock came from their booth. Four of Deltoro's guards stood outside, staring at Sam.

"Deltoro wishes to speak with you," they said. "Now." Then they looked at Kurt and said, "He'll deal with you later."

Sam felt his stomach twist itself into knots. He looked at Mr. Koborn. The corpulent man turned quiet and pale, and a bead of sweat trickled down his brow. He looked at Sam and gave him a weak, shaky smile. "Good luck kid. Let me know if you make it out of there, alright?"

Sam stood without saying a word, and followed the guards to Mr. Deltoro's room. They waited outside, and a maid stood in the corner while Sam took a seat in front of the largest crime lord in Palsitore. He wore a flowing red robe, and his thinning white hair stuck out at odd angles. Mr. Deltoro poured both himself and Sam a cup of tea. He grazed each cup with his fingertips, verifying they were within their circles, before pouring out the steaming, fragrant green liquid. Sam picked up his cup and took a sip. Its aroma and texture surpassed the first, blossoming forth with notes of ginger and caramel that glided along his tongue. Sam idly wondered if he was getting a last cup before his death before his mind froze over. Only the steaming mug in his hands kept them from shaking uncontrollably. His eyes darted around the room, but he kept his face fixed forward not daring to turn away from Mr. Deltoro.

The blind man reached under the desk and pulled up a newspaper. He carefully placed it right in front of him, nudging the sides so it lay on the exact center of the desk. However, the paper faced bottom-side-up, showing the most of an enormous block of text and a small slice of a photo.

"Well, Crow, it seems you caught wind of my plans." He spat out Sam's new moniker with rage. Sam flipped the newspaper over and read the headline. Mr. Deltoro leaned forward and looked down at the paper.

"It was turned over, wasn't it?"

Sam swallowed and said, "It was."

Mr. Deltoro pounded on the table and shouted to the guards, "Throw her out immediately! I want a replacement ready in an hour, and make sure she isn't as incompetent as this idiot!"

Two guards stomped in and grabbed the woman by her arms. She didn't move or say anything as she was dragged out the door.

"Lock the door," Mr. Deltoro told the other guards, "And make sure no one comes in until I say so." After the guards complied, he took a sip of tea and said, "Take your mask off, Samuel Milone. Now."

Sam looked at the door, took a deep breath, and slowly lifted his mask. He set it down on the floor and picked up his tea cup. After he took another sip, Mr. Deltoro drew a small pocketknife from the sleeve of his robe and jabbed it towards Sam's right eye. In a flash, the world turned crisp and fluid, enriched in detail. Sam could see every crack and bend in the steel of the knife as it drew steadily, sluggishly closer. His first instinct was to throw his hands up and back away, but he was held fast by a feeling of certainty. The knife would stop before his eye. His awakened senses told him that. It would stop so close to his eye that he could cut his eyelashes just by blinking, but it would stop.

Sam told himself it was crazy. Sam told himself he couldn't trust this feeling he couldn't control. But he also knew it didn't matter. If he didn't die by that knife, the guards outside the door would kill him, or the ones by the entrance, or any other henchman at Deltoro's disposal. He took a deep breath and steeled himself. In a flash, the enhanced detail blurred away, and the knife lunged at his eye, stopping within a hair of scratching his cornea. He blinked, and half an eyelash drifted to the floor.

Mr. Deltoro smiled and withdrew the knife. "You got balls, kid. Anyone else would've spilled their tea." He drained his own mug and poured himself another cup. "You know, I once sat in your place. Old Smokey, he was called. The room used to smell like a charizard's nest. Took forever to air it out. Anyways, I stole a pokemon from Smokey's collection, nothing fancy, mind you, but enough to get into brawling. He slashed out my eyes for it, but he let me keep the pokemon. A year later, I had that same pokemon chew out his throat." He took another sip of tea and grinned. "I spilled my tea, then… still have a scar from that."

Sam took a long, slow sip and weighed his words. "Are you implying I'd do the same?"

Mr. Deltoro slammed his tea mug on the table and howled with laughter. "You try that, kid, and I'd have old Chopper chew your heart out of your ribcage. But there's no need for that. After all, you didn't break my agreement, and you had every right to resist arrest." Then his smile transformed into a scowl, and the scars on his face whitened. "But that doesn't change the fact that, because of you, I'm losing a business opportunity worth billions. I knew it was only a possibility, but because of what you've done, it's become impossible now."

Sam ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath. "Does our deal still hold?"

"Oh, it'll hold alright," Mr. Deltoro said with a wicked grin. "By my accounting, you've made three hundred grand, with two months left. Winning as much as you do, you'd be done in a month… but if you lost every match from now until then, you'd come up a hundred grand short. You'd cover your debt to me and your lawyer, but there'd be no scholarship for you."

"So, you're going to make sure I never win another match here?"

"That's my promise." He tried to pour himself another cup, but only a few drops of tea came out. He splashed the last few drops into his mouth and pushed the cup into its circle. "I've rearranged tonight's match. Three on one. You better get ready."

Sam wanted to laugh at that claim, but Deltoro's icy, eyeless stare made him wonder what the crime lord had planned. With a bow, he stood, put his mask back on, unlocked the door, and walked straight to his locker room. He turned on the computer terminal and checked his next match. To his surprise, he was the three. Even more surprising, he could see his opponent's pokemon, a Scizor by the name of Chainsaw.

Sam staggered back and sat on a bench. His mind went blank, confused by the apparent advantage given to him. Then he remembered Mr. Gold. He told himself that, three on one, he could've beaten the poliwrath, but despite all his own self-reassurances, he couldn't shake the feeling that he couldn't fathom the scizor's strength.

"Alright. I know what I'm up against. I can do this." He went back to the terminal and selected his three pokemon. Then he called them out and knelt in front of them. Aconite, Cloud, and Luna all looked into his eyes.

"Listen. Keep your guard up in this match. There's something not right about this one, so whatever you do, make sure you dodge the attacks. Got it?"

The three pokemon nodded, and Sam sat with them until he was called out to the ring. When he arrived, a red-cloaked woman wearing a red Oni mask tossed a pokeball in her hand.

"Let's get this over with," she said. "I'm a busy woman." She threw her pokeball forward, and Chainsaw emerged from the red light, spreading its legs apart and holding its claws ready to strike. Sam breathed in and called out Aconite.

The second the referee started the match, Chainsaw raced forward with blinding speed. Sam barely had time to shout "Left!" before its claw slammed into Aconite's chest, slamming her into the kinetic barrier with enough force to make the entire translucent dome ripple. Aconite fell to the ground, blood gushing out of its mouth, ribs shattered, and a black bruise mottling her stomach.

Sam called her back before the referee could call her down. Then Sam called out Cloud and had him perch on his shoulder.

"That scizor took out Aconite in one hit," Sam told Cloud. "I didn't even have time to react. So, no matter what, stay high, and don't let it close in on you, okay?" Cloud chirped at him and flew into the stadium, circling near the ceiling of the invisible dome.

The referee started the match, and this time, in a blink of an eye, Chainsaw leapt into the air. Sam shouted "Down," but the order came far too late for Cloud to avoid the blow to his chest. He flew into the kinetic barrier, making it bulge outward, before he fell to the ground. Sam called back the broken heap of feathers, and with shaking hands, he called out Luna. He knelt down next to her and petted her ears.

"Listen, Luna. I don't think we can win this one. Cloud and Aconite went down before they could move. I think we should call it quits, but if you want to fight, I have an idea."

Luna nodded. Sam bowed his head and said, "Then the moment the match starts, flash, dodge left, then confuse ray. Keeping it confused is our only shot at this."

Luna ran out into the arena, glancing at the two blood smears as she lowered herself into a fighting stance. Sam felt his heart pounding in his chest, and his head felt faint and dizzy. The mixture of tea and root beer in his stomach roiled, filling the back of his throat with their bile-tainted flavors.

The announcer started the match. As Chainsaw raced forward, Luna filled the arena with blinding light. Chainsaw's claw slammed into the kinetic barrier, and as it looked towards Luna, her rings glowed with an eerie, pulsating light that made its eyes haze over. It rubbed at them and swung wildly in Luna's direction. Despite its speed, Luna kept well out of the range of its swings.

"Now, dark pulse!" Luna opened her mouth and gathered dark, crackling energy in front of her. Then she fired the dark bolt directly at Chainsaw's chest. It didn't even budge as the energy burnt at its outer shell, leaving a scorch mark in its crimson torso.

"That's cute," the woman said, "You think you have a chance. Chainsaw, use x-scissor!"

"Flash again and right!"

Luna started glowing, but before she could move, the scizor's claws slammed into her, slamming her into the kinetic barrier. When the light cleared, Sam could see two long gashes spurting blood from Luna's chest. Sam called her back and turned away from the arena. When he looked up, he saw Mr. Deltoro, all the way at the top ring, smiling down at him.

As Sam passed the crime lord by on his way out, he told him, "That's the last time I lose. I'll make sure of it."

Mr. Deltoro smiled. "Go ahead and try. You're out of your league now."


	13. Chapters 25-26

Chapter Twenty-Five: Sipping at Power

Sam, Officer Bayson, Kurt Koborn, and Peter Ducall sat in the basement room, taking bites of aged tauros steak as they observed the pokeball and store schematics in front of them. A fifth plate, covered with a metal dome, sat untouched at the other end of the table. Sam struggled to keep his eyes open after another night plagued by the blue eye in his dreams.

"So, Sam, you're scheduled for another match against Chainsaw in three days."

"Yep."

"You got your ass handed to you," Bayson remarked.

"Thanks for reminding me."

Mr. Koborn smirked and took a long swallow of wine. "And you think Coalfoot's going to help?"

"Scizor can't take the heat. Even if the overheat doesn't knock it out, it'll be too slow to dodge any attacks."

"Deltoro's serious about this," Mr. Ducall added. "It won't be as easy as exploiting an obvious weakness."

"I know. I have other tricks to bring to the table, now that I've seen all the footage on its fights. Without its speed, I can deal with it."

Mr. Ducall shrugged and passed the pokeball over to Sam. "You're the expert. So, moving on to the next order of business: the next heist. Karat Krafters has the second largest black diamond on display in their gallery. They also beefed up security and isolated their alarms on their own server, meaning they can't be hacked from outside."

"How did you even hack them in the first place? Only police agents have access to those servers."

Mr. Ducall delicately sliced through the steak and pulled it away, watching the juices drip onto his plate. "I know a programmer. He wishes to keep his identity private; however, since the alarms can only be disabled from a nearby location, he needs an escort to the premises. So, he volunteered to appear here tonight."

Sam looked around for his mask, but it was shut in the closet. "You mean he's here now? What if he saw me?"

Footsteps approached from behind Sam. "I already knew who you were, Sam," the man said.

Alex dropped his fork. "Johnny? What the hell are you doing here?"

Johnny smoothed out his greasy black hair and pushed his glasses up his nose. "Same as you. If Deltoro takes out the upper brass, we go down with them." He took a seat and gnawed at the steak without cutting it up, tearing off a chunk and chewing it as juices dribbled down his chin. "Goddamn thith ith delithiouth," he said through the mouthful of succulent meat.

Peter pointed at the schematic. "The plan on this one is simple. Johnny will hide in the alleyway while Sam busts in from the front. Luckily, this store's relying on cyber security, so the guard's light. Once you're in, place the chip on the glass display and wait for it to change color before taking the gem and getting out of there. Got it?"

Mr. Koborn raised his wine glass. "I propose an amendment to the plan. You still have the last gem, right? Give it away, preferably to someone in need. It'll stir the media into a frenzy… and double my ratings!" He chuckled and threw more wine into his mouth. Then he snapped his fingers and said, "I know! The gas leak kid… she's still a hot news item. Leave the gem next to her bed, and the feather too."

"I don't know," Officer Bayson said. "It's getting out of hand already."

Johnny shoved his empty plate away from him. "Getting out of hand is exactly what we need it to do. I agree with the plan."

"As do I," Peter said. "It's perfect."

Sam looked at Alex, and Alex returned the stare. After a moment, Sam took a deep breath and said, "If it's necessary, then I'll do it. Whatever it takes."

"It's settled then." Mr. Ducall took out a pen and wrote an address and room number on a manila folder and stuck the ruby necklace inside before handing it to Sam. "Here's everything you need. You need to leave now so you'll make it before third shift. Go through the maintenance doors in the back, and Johnny will have the ninth floor door open, right Johnny?"

Johnny gave him a wry salute, bumping his glasses down his nose. "Yes sir!" Then he turned towards Sam and said, "I'll meet you by the Checkered Café."

"I have a better idea." Sam called out Aconite and Jaeger. "Listen you two, that's Johnny," he said, pointing at the hacker. "Tail him, make sure you aren't spotted, and make sure that anyone who notices him in a quiet area doesn't wake up for a few hours. Understand?"

The toxicroak and weavile nodded. Then Sam threw on his costume, said goodbye, and ran up the stairs. He followed the address through alleyways and silent suburban streets into a secluded, manicured district full of lush lawns, quaint cast-iron lamp posts, and brick sidewalks. Further in, he found the hospital, a brawling collection of sleek, tall buildings surrounded by a huge field. In the waning sunlight, he saw a narrow path leading around the building. At the end was a small metal door with a keypad at its side. The light on it flashed green, and the door opened noiselessly. Nine floors up, after passing a series of red-locked doors, he found another flashing green lock and opened it. Right in front of him was room 921, with the name Hannah Hartford hung on the door.

Sam knocked and opened the door. In bed, surrounded by mounds medical equipment, bag after bag of medicinal fluids, and meticulously clean surgical tools, rested a frail little girl. A respirator clung to her gaunt face, and huge needles stuck into her slender, bony arms, pumping blood and saline solution into her feeble veins.

Sam set the feather and jewel necklace on the nightstand next to the bed, pushing aside a pile of get well cards and a vase of fresh field flowers. Then, as he turned away, he felt himself fall yet again into the sensation of unlimited perception. He could sense the microscopic beads of water on each petal of flower, every flicker of current that ran through the machines in the room, and each laborious heartbeat within the girl's chest. Her lungs were charred, coated with dead skin that rasped against the living tissue, causing microscopic lesions that seeped miniscule rivulets of blood.

He also sensed power within him, power that reached out towards the girl's dying lungs. He reached towards her, but then he pulled away. As the muscles clenched together in his hands, he forced himself to turn towards the door, thinking over and over all the damage his unknown powers could do to the girl. But as he reached for the door handle, he realized that it didn't matter what he did – the girl would be dead by morning anyways. Her heart rate slowed, and blood pooled up in the bottom of her lungs. With a deep breath, Sam turned back around and placed his hand on the girl's head, watching millimeter by millimeter his hand's descent and panicking over what would happen. Then, the moment his hand touched her skin, power raced through him like tar and seeped into the girl's body. Within seconds, the charred, dead lung cells vanished, and the remaining tissue grew in its place. Her pulse quickened, and color returned to her skin.

Sam felt pressure growing in his head. With the last of his energy, he walked out of the room and into the stairway. He stumbled down a flight of steps before collapsing in front of a locked door, taking his mask off and squeezing his head between his hands. Nausea jolted his stomach, and he held back vomit in his mouth, gagging as it trickled out his nose. He swallowed it down, then coughed violently, seeing stars as he lost his breath. Then those stars turned into blue eyes, staring at him out of every shadow. Sam rolled away from a large mass of eyes on one wall and onto the next flight of steps, tumbling down a few feet before stopping himself with the railing.

And then, as quickly as the headache came, it vanished. Sam stood up, wiped vomit off of his face with his wrist, and looked around the staircase, making sure no one heard him. Then he glanced at his tablet. Third shift started in five minutes. Sam sprinted down the stairway, slunk through the shadows of the wealthy district, and raced towards Karat Krafters. Just down the block, he heard a voice in his mask.

"Hey, Feathers, where the heck are you? Do you hear me yet? Say something!"

"Uh, what?" Sam asked.

"Oh thank god, you're here. I thought you were never going to show up!"

"Who is this?"

"It's Johnny! I'm wired into your mask's comm. system. Makes things easier. Anyways, third shift's already here! We should bail and try this some other time, there's more guards here than normal.

Sam glanced down the street and saw eight guards, accompanied by four magneton, two noctowl, and two ariados. Shadows creeping across the windows hinted at more personnel inside. He was just about to tell Johnny to call it off when his senses sharpened. He heard six sets of human footsteps patrolling the store's interior, and six more sets of padded feet walking alongside them. Even at night, with the city sleeping, the cacophony surrounding Sam made his head spin.

The power told him exactly what to do, down to every twitch of his muscles. Sam resisted its call, forcing himself to keep his feet planted where they were.

 _I can't use it. I pass out in that store, and it's all over. Just call it off, go home, and try again tomorrow. It's impossible._

 _That's not the only thing impossible without this power,_ a voice in his head whispered, so faintly that Sam barely noticed it. Sam wondered if it was his own thought or not before he realized what the voice meant.

 _Trying to attack that scizor doesn't matter if I can't even see its attacks coming. But like this, I'd know every move it's about to make. There's no way I could lose like this. But what about the side effects? I can't pass out in the middle of a match._

 _It only hurts you if you move objects with it. Using it just to see everything won't make you ill._

 _Yeah, but it's all on camera. What would they think if I suddenly turned into a badass?_

 _You could pretend to have Luna control you._

Sam thought about what the idea said, and realized it was correct. As the heightened senses slipped away, he straightened up his costume and called out Morel and Luna.

"Tell Jaeger to cover me from the roof," Sam told Johnny. "I'm going in."

"Are you nuts? There's at least a dozen guys in there, you'd get crushed!"

"I have a plan. Just get ready to hack the system, okay?"

"Fine, but if it goes wrong, I'm out of here. Don't get caught."

Sam told Morel which pokemon to hit in which order, while he had Luna hide in the alley. Then he focused on his heartbeat and stared at the guards, waiting for his senses to focus. When they did, he waited for the guards to turn their backs to him before slinking through the alleyway shadows. He made it within ten feet of them before a magneton spotted him. Before it could send out a shock, Morel raced out of an alleyway and punched it in the top magnemite, sending the trio flying into the two noctowl. The built-up charge in the magneton fried the two birds, and they toppled onto three of the guards. Morel punched the three remaining magneton in rapid succession, knocking them into the vigoroth and another guard while Sam used his acute senses to slip around the guards' darts and punches, shooting each one in the gut with a dart. He tranquilized the guards knocked over by their pokemon, stole one of their keycards, and called each pokemon outside back into a pokeball.

Sam waited. No one inside stopped or turned towards the door. After a moment, Sam waved Jaeger down and had his two pokemon position themselves around the door. Then he swiped the card and walked inside. Three pokemon fell to his darts before the guards noticed him. One went for the phone, a second towards the fire alarm, and the remaining four ducked behind counters and aimed dart guns at him, while the three remaining pokemon, two mightyena and a growlithe, lunged at his pokemon. Morel knocked out the mightyena with a flurry of punches, knocking teeth out and spraying blood across the display cases, while Jaeger pinned the growlithe to the ground, squeezing its throat until it fell limp.

Sam twirled around the four darts flying at him, shifting each muscle around their trajectories while he lined up his own shots. He hit the first guard in the neck as he picked up the phone, and shot the second in the arm two paces from the fire alarm. For the remaining four, he ordered Morel to use stun spore. While his own mask filtered out the air, the remaining guards choked on the spores and collapsed, their muscles twitching as they gasped for air. Sam stepped over them and towards the prominent display case housing the black diamond. He placed the computer chip on the glass and said, "It's ready."

"Wait, you actually did it? I thought they got you!"

"You better hurry. No telling when someone might notice a pile of bodies out in the streets."

"Oh, right. Give me a minute, this stuff's pretty good."

While Sam waited for the light to change color, he noticed a guard shifting around behind him. The main raised his dart gun an inch off the ground and pointed it at him, but before he could fire, Sam stepped on the gun. He pried the man's trembling fingers off of the weapon and slid it under a counter. When he turned back to the display, the light turned green. He rubbed at his throat before taking off the glass and setting it on the back of a security guard. Then he slipped the diamond into his pocket, replaced the glass, told Johnny to leave, called the police, and walked out the front door.

 _That went perfectly, wouldn't you agree?_

Sam's heart chilled when he heard that thought ring clearly in his head. The voice wasn't his own, nor had he ever heard that deep, sinuous voice anywhere else before.

 _Who – what are you?_

The voice didn't answer him. As he returned to the lawyer's office, Sam swore he'd never use the power again, lest he hear more voices in his head.

Chapter Twenty-Six: Insomnia

As Sam slept that night, he once again saw the blue eye, and he inwardly groaned as the dream began. Dark mist swirled through his mind as the eye gazed at him. This time, however, the mist gradually blew away, revealing a torn-up parking lot strewn with corpses and piles of machinery. His vision was blurred, as though a heat shimmer rose from the ground. The eye floated in front of him, suspended in a cloud of black mist. A ring of dark-haired pokemon surrounded them both, holding out their hands and erecting a dark, nebulous barrier around them.

Then his gaze was pulled up and away from the circle, towards the top of a far-off, blurry building and a black smear standing atop it. A loud, clear gunshot rang, and the eye exploded into slimy blue bits. Pain raced through Sam's left eye, and he shot up in his bed, holding his hand over the afflicted eye. Tears gushed out of it, soaking the left side of his face and filling his nose with saline vapors.

He looked at the clock on his nightstand. In red blocky numbers, it displayed the time as 4:56. Sam gripped the clock, yanked its cord out of the wall, and threw it across the room. It crashed into the side of his desk and fell to the floor, its screen cracked and strewn about the carpet.

He snapped out of his drowsy stupor and glanced in horror at the door. He cocked his ear, and, after a moment of silence through the house, sighed in relief. He looked back at his nightstand, and then retrieved the clock off of the floor.

"What was the time again?" he asked himself. "Four fifty-something? Checkers should be open in a bit."

He left Luna's pokeball behind as he threw on a jacket and walked out into the mild morning air. As he walked, he muttered to himself.

"I need to tell someone. Not mom, she'd flip out and call doctors left and right… not to mention that Drake guy. Ugh. Not Brandon and Emily, that's complicated enough. Ducall? Yeah, I suppose he'd do. I'll see if he can meet today."

As he walked around the corner to the Checkered Café, Sam had an uneasy prickle on his neck, as though someone were standing behind him and listening to his whispers. He turned around, but the brightly lit streets were vacant. Still unsettled by the phantom presence, Sam hurried inside the café without a word.

To his surprise, the café already had a patron. Officer Bayson hunkered over a newspaper on a table, taking long swallows of his coffee and checking his phone as he read. Sam walked into the back of the store and sat in front of him.

"Oh hey, you're up early," Alex said. "I figured you'd be out longer after… well, you know."

"Couldn't sleep."

"What, is all of it getting to you?" He sipped and flipped the newspaper page. "Don't blame you. I've lost a few nights sleep myself."

The waitress walked over to their table, yawning into her hand and rubbing at her left eye. "Sorry Sam, didn't hear you come in. The usual?"

"Actually, could you get me coffee? The blackest you got."

The waitress did a double-take and stared at him. "I'm sorry, coffee?"

"As black as it gets," Sam repeated.

The waitress stood there for a moment before going to the counter, pouring out a mug of coffee, and bringing it to him.

"You said you wanted it black, right? No cream or sugar?"

"None." Sam took a cautious sip and grimaced at its bitter, biting taste. Then he raised the mug and swallowed every drop in one long drink. The shock to his senses took the edge off of the drowsiness gnawing at his eyes.

"Thanks." He handed the mug to the waitress and told her that would be all. She gave an unsteady smile and told them both to ring the bell on the counter if they needed anything before retreating to the back room.

"Wow kid, didn't think you'd go over to the dark side."

"I had a rough night. Nights."

"You're under eighteen still, right?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Well, sounds like you need something stronger than coffee. I'd show you to a few places, but well, I'd have to arrest you afterwards." He chuckled to himself and swallowed the rest of his coffee.

"Uh… I'll manage." Then Sam leaned forward and asked, "Do you mind if I tell you something?"

"Sure, go for it."

"I've been having weird dreams lately. Like, really weird."

Officer Bayson folded up his newspaper. "How weird is weird?"

"It's just this blue eye, staring at me. Thing is, it goes on for hours, and I wake up like I haven't slept at all."

"Sucks to be you. Have you seen the eye before?"

"Never. It's really blue – blue like the ocean, except brighter and lighter. And there's all this black fog around it."

"Okay, I think I get the gist. Anything else?"

"Well, last night the dream went further. I saw… like, this parking lot full of corpses, and then the eye got shot, and it felt like my own eye got shot. That's when I woke up."

Officer Bayson picked up the paper and mimed writing on it. "I see, I see. Well, in my professional opinion, you are completely insane and should be admitted to the nearest mental asylum."

"Hey, this is serious! Because I also–" Sam stopped himself short of admitting to hearing voices in his head.

"Also… what?"

"I also… also… I don't even know what I was going to say." Sam forced a weak chuckle and looked around the café. Officer Bayson frowned and held up the newspaper's front page. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, battered box. Water stains marred its cover, and a jagged tear made one end flap limply in the air.

"Try these," Alex said, holding out the box. "These'll knock you out fast, refreshing sleep, no side effects if you use them sparingly. One'll get you four hours, but don't take any more at once. Got it?"

Sam hesitantly took the box and shoved it in his jacket pocket. "Thanks Chief."

"Chief, eh?" Alex smiled. "Here's to hoping I get there someday." Then he folded his newspaper and walked out of the coffeeshop. After a minute, Sam patted the box in his pocket and walked outside, glancing at the officer before turning in the opposite direction.

The sun was just climbing over the horizon as he got home. He snuck upstairs, checking if his mom was still in bed before returning to his bedroom, filling his mug with water, and taking one of the sleeping pills. The effects hit him like a sledgehammer, knocking him onto the bed. His head spun as sleep rushed to his eyelids, and within seconds, he was out.

But the eye was still there, waiting for him.


	14. Chapters 27-28

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Broken Promises

Through the whole afternoon, Sam trained his pokemon in the warehouse, familiarizing himself with Coalfoot and her rapid, fiery attacks, and studying every recording of Chainsaw's battles he could find. Within an hour of digging through the records, he found an abrupt and peculiar change in the scizor's fighting abilities. One match, it moved with the speed and power of an average member of its species, and within a week, its speed and power had transformed into the unstoppable pummeling machine Sam faced several days ago.

His interest piqued, Sam took out his cell phone and called his lawyer. "Hey Mr. Ducall," he said once they connected, "I have an important question. Have you heard of any way to suddenly make pokemon stronger and faster?"

"Nothing comes to mind. Why, were you hoping to find something like that?"

"Well, I noticed that Chainsaw got an upgrade about a year ago. There's clearly something going on."

"A year ago? Well, if anything like that was around that long ago, you'd think it would go mainstream by now." The lawyer sighed. "I'll look into it, but I won't promise anything."

"Thanks."

"Just remember this is going to cost-"

Sam hung up and tucked the phone in his pocket. Then he had another idea and dialed Brandon's number. After four rings, he picked up.

"Hello Sam," he said. Sam heard hesitance in his voice.

"I've got an important question for you Brandon. Do you have a moment?"

Brandon whispered into the phone, "Does this have to do with you-know-what?"

"It does. Now, how long has mega evolution been studied?"

"Mega evolution? Well, records go back centuries."

"And has anything happened with it, say, a year ago?"

"Nuh-uh. There hasn't been any headway for decades."

"Oh. Hmm, what about anything else that radically enhances a pokemon's power?"

"Wait, you're not seriously considering using something like that, are you?"

Sam gripped the phone tighter. "No, not at all, I'm not like those bastards. I'm up against someone using something, and I don't know what."

"Are there any physical differences?"

"Nope, none that I can see."

"Then it's not mega evolution." Brandon hummed into the phone and said, "I think I have an idea."

"Really?"

"There's been research into another rare form of energy over the last twenty years, and it really took off about a year ago. Dad's studying it right now, but he hasn't told me anything about it… says it's Sinex stuff."

Sam glanced at the clock. He had ten minutes to get to Deltoro's ring before his match starts. "I gotta run. Thanks for the info!"

Sam hung up before Brandon could say anything, then he gathered up his pokemon and sprinted for the casino. With a minute to spare, he raced down the stairs to the locker room and took deep breaths until his legs stopped shaking. Before he could grab himself a glass of water, the announcer called him out onto the arena. The red-cloaked woman was waiting.

"I didn't think you'd show up."

"And miss a chance to beat you? No way."

"Cute. You still think you have a chance." She looked up at the ref and said, "Same as last time?"

"Yep," he called back.

"Alright then, let's get the show on the road!" She threw her pokeball forward, and Chainsaw raced to the center of the arena. Sam answered by calling out Coalfoot. The broad, muscular rapidash kicked its hooves into the air and flung sparks into the kinetic barrier ceiling.

The referee glanced back at the crowd before shouting "Begin!"

"Overheat!" Sam roared. In an instant, a maelstrom of fire engulfed the arena, making the kinetic barrier dome crackle and fizzle as flames raced across its surface. Inside, the fires danced and swirled, raging for a full minute before dying out. Coalfoot stood next to the barrier, panting, the flames of her mane flickering weakly. Chainsaw stood at the other end, its claws covering its eyes. Wisps of steam floated from its metallic armor.

"Now, use flame wheel!"

"Brick break!"

Coalfoot raced forward, wreathed in fire, but Chainsaw's chop parted the flames and slammed Coolfoot's head into the ground. As the rapidash tried to regain her footing, the scizor kicked her in the ribs, knocking her across the arena. Sam clenched his teeth and called Coalfoot back. Then he summoned Aconite next to him.

"Be very careful," he told the toxicroak. "It hasn't slowed down like I thought it would, so whatever you do, just keep moving, alright?"

Aconite nodded and stepped into the ring. When the referee started the round, Aconite bounded across the ring of the arena, ducking and bobbing around Chainsaw's flurry of strikes. During one attack, Chainsaw overextended itself over Aconite, and she threw a punch into the scizor's midsection. The attack didn't even make Chainsaw budge. Instead, the scizor landed on top of Aconite, grabbed her, held her up, and punched her across the arena. Aconite crashed into the kinetic barrier in front of Sam and slumped down to the floor.

Sam called Aconite back and closed his eyes.

 _I'm going to lose,_ he told himself. _If I can't match that scizor's speed, I'm going to lose. But if I use that power…_

Sam shook his head and reached down for Luna's pokeball, but as his fingers tightened around it, his throat tightened, and sweat trickled down his neck.

 _I can't send Luna out there. She'd get crushed._

 _Then why don't you accept my help?_ The unknown voice asked him. _You won't be able to win without me._

 _Stop it! Get out of my head!_

 _I would if I could,_ the voice grumbled, _but I'm stuck in here._

 _What are you?_

 _Do you want my help or not?_

 _No! No way! I'm not about to listen to some voice in my head!_

 _Listen, let's make a deal. I'll help you out, and I'll stay quiet in here, and in return, you help me out with what I want. How does that sound?_

Sam paused. _You promise to stay quiet?_

 _I've been quiet so far, right?_

 _Well… no, I shouldn't. I won't._

 _Then what about Luna?_

Sam looked down at the pokeball in his hand. He raised it to his mask, and studied its worn, painted surface.

 _Fine. But just this once, that's it._

 _Done._

Sam felt the world shift into focus. Through the eyes of his mask, he could see every shift and muscle twitch of the scizor. He could also see power rippling from its body, a familiar power, one that felt like his own.

 _Uh… Sam?_ The voice said. _I wasn't expecting that._

 _Can we still win?_

The voice paused for a moment, and said, _only one way to find out. No promises._

Sam took a deep breath and threw his pokeball forward. Through the slow motion, as the ball tumbled through the air, Sam spent every second of it wishing he could take it back, walk away, and forget about the decision he just made. But after those agonizing few seconds stretched out into minutes, Luna emerged from her pokeball, ready to fight.

Sam saw the referee's lips move before his signal reached his ears. The scizor crouched low, preparing to pounce, and Sam studied its stance before shouting, "Fire a shadow ball underneath you!"

As Chainsaw raced forward into Luna's attack, he studied its block and the shifts in its stance.

"Now, fire a dark pulse at the barrier!"

Luna blasted the barrier, propelling herself towards the center of the arena as Chainsaw leapt up into the shower of black sparks. The scizor brushed the attack away and kept up the pursuit.

 _This won't work,_ the voice told him. _It's not even getting scratched. You should just forfeit the match before Luna gets hurt._

 _I promised I'd win the next match._

 _But you also promised… I'll be quiet now._

Attack after attack, Sam used his slowed perception of time to plot out the next step, but the longer the battle dragged on, the closer Chainsaw got to hitting Luna. After five minutes, Chainsaw landed a metal claw that grazed Luna's left leg, flinging a tiny spray of blood into the air. Attack after attack forced Luna back closer and closer to the kinetic barrier. When the scizor pulled back a claw to pummel Luna, Sam knew he had only one option left.

"Flash and jump!"

Luna filled the arena with blinding light and leapt, but Chainsaw had kept a claw over its eyes. Luna flew helpless through the air as the scizor crouched its legs and sprang into the air. Sam calculated its trajectory and predicted its attack, but every trick he could think of resulted in failure. Paralyzed by the lack of options, Sam watched as Chainsaw's claws sank into Luna's legs, twisted her around, and flung her into the arena's concrete floor.

Sam called Luna back by his side and healed her. The woman in the red Oni mask smirked and turned away without a word, collecting a large wad of cash. As Sam left, Mr. Deltoro waited for him by the elevator doors, holding a thin envelope in his hands.

"Better luck next time, eh Feathers?" he said with a chuckle.

Sam took the money in silence, brought the costume back to the lawyer's office, and returned home. He crawled under the covers and almost said good night to the empty bedroom before cursing under his breath and bunching up the covers under his chin. And though he prayed, just once, that he'd get a good night's sleep as he slipped a pill into his mouth, the gleaming blue eye was still there the moment darkness descended.

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Undercover Research

Samuel Milone sat in front of his family's television, watching a live report from PNC studios, discussing the miraculous recovery of Sadie Miller, a gas-leak victim hospitalized with no hope of recovery. After the jewel thief known as Black Crow broke into her room and left a jewel necklace at her bedsidem she experienced instant improvement in her health, and will be sent home tomorrow morning. In addition, the jewel's owner allowed her to keep it as a token of kindness.

"That's bull," Sam's mother said behind him. "He's only doing that to promote his store. Heck, I wish the guy stole one of my pots and left it there."

Sam turned the television off and stood up. "Well, I don't think taking it back would be good for his business."

"Good point. Want some lunch?"

"Nah, I'll have it at Brandon's."

"Alright then, have fun!"

Sam touched the small electronic device stashed in his pocket and walked out the door. As he wound his way through the streets, he saw the occasional black feather tucked into the hair or shirts of people he passed. Intrigued and disturbed, Sam stopped a sandy-haired man with a heavy-set body and a huge grin and asked them about their feather.

"Oh, this?" he asked, pointing to the feather impaled onto his flannel shirt. "Isn't Black Crow the fucking best? He's like something out of a movie, y'know?" Sam nodded, and the man said, "Hey, wanna know where to get one? They're in drugstores everywhere, man! They're pretty pricey though."

Sam shook his head and walked on. He heard the man shouting after him, but Sam disappeared down an alley and kept walking. His breathing eased when he emerged into the wealthier district of the city, where the crowds thinned and fewer black feathers floated around him. Eventually, the crowd disappeared altogether, leaving Sam alone as he walked down the Oak Estate driveway up to the thick oaken door.

When Sam knocked, Marianne answered the door. She handed him a folded piece of paper with Brandon's writing on it.

 _In the basement,_ it read, _working with dad_.

Sam walked over to the lab door and tested the handle. It didn't budge, and the alarm on the handle beeped at him. After a moment, he heard footsteps thumping up stairs through the door, and then it opened. Brandon wore a huge, thick set of safety goggles and a thick, gleaming white labcoat with a square green stain on the sleeve.

"Oh, hey! Didn't you read the note?"

Sam looked at the piece of paper on his hand and flipped it over. It said nothing beside those six words.

"Uh… it doesn't say much."

Brandon yanked the paper from his hands and read it. "Oh, thought I had the rest of it on there. Oh well. Care for some breakfast?"

Sam looked at his clock. "Breakfast? It's three in the afternoon."

Brandon walked over to the fridge and flung the door open. "Yeah, I know, but all we got left in the fridge are scrambled eggs and pan- hey, they were right here! Did you eat them already?"

"I just got here," Sam said. He looked at Marianne, who glanced away from them and twiddled her thin, slender fingers. A tiny crumb of pancake was stuck to the side of her cheek.

Sam tapped Brandon's shoulder and pointed at Marianne. "I think I found the culprit."

Brandon did a double-take before he noticed the crumb on her face. "Marianne, I told you not to eat that stuff! Who knows what that could do to your digestion!" She backed away and turned towards the wall. Brandon smiled and stretched out his hand. "Come here."

Marianne stepped closer, and Brandon moved his hand to wipe off the crumb, but his finger stopped an inch away. He glanced at Sam and froze. Sam motioned for him to continue, but Brandon retraced his hand. Marianne frowned and flicked the crumb off herself.

"So… have you heard anything?"

"Huh? Oh, um, no. Dad won't talk about it much. He says it's all classified." He closed the fridge and asked, "Couldn't you find out through…" He paused, looking at the lab door before continuing. "Through your police stuff?"

"If I could, I wouldn't be asking."

"Oh. Weird. So, are you going to ask him yourself, maybe explain everything?"

"I can't." Sam glanced towards the windows and around the room. "It's bad enough you know, and I got one hell of a scolding for that. No one else must know."

"Hmm… then I don't think I can help you. Sorry."

Footsteps interrupted their conversation, and the professor ran into the room. "Brandon, that's where you went!" Then he looked at Sam and said, "Oh, hello there! That's why Brandon disappeared on me. How's the college funding going?"

"Well," Sam said. "Looks like I'll have everything I need."

"Splendid!" He glanced at the fridge and said, "Now that I think about it, I'm starving. How about we all have some breakfast!"

"Marianne ate it," Brandon said. "Unless you want poffins, we'll need to make a McD's run."

Professor Oak's face scrunched up. "Ugh, I'm never doing that again." He slammed shut the lab door, flung his lab coat onto the kitchen counter, and grabbed his keys. "I'll be back with the usual, alright?"

Before Sam could ask for anything, he was gone, leaving him and Brandon alone in the kitchen.

"So, now what?"

Sam reached into his pocket and took out the transmitter from his last heist. He wedged it against the door's lock and called Mr. Ducall.

"Hey, it's me. Think you can get Johnny on the line? I could use his help."

"What is it this time?"

"Research project. You know, the Chainsaw matter."

"Ah, that. Well, no promises, but I'll make this a conference call with him." After another ringtone, a hushed voice answered the phone.

"You do realize I'm at work, right?"

"Sorry Johnny, but I won't get another chance. Think you can hack this lock like the last one? I got that transmitter on there."

Furious typing came through the phone, and after a second, Johnny said with breathless wonder, "Jesus Christ, I've only seen locks this good on Sinex property. Where the fuck are you?"

"Professor Oak's lab."

"Well, shit, that explains it. You're screwed. It'd take hours to crack that. No, days. Just get the hell out of there before anyone finds you."

"Who are you calling?" Brandon asked. "And what are you doing with the door?"

"Who was that? And why the hell are they with you at Oak's lab?"

 _If I may interject,_ the voice in Sam's head said, _I think we can get the door open ourselves._

"Could you all stop talking and let me think?" He shouted to the room. As silence loomed over them like a stormy cloud, Sam mentally asked the voice, _What are you thinking?_

 _The door unlocks when someone opens it from the inside. All we have to do is move the handle and we're in._

 _And how do I do that? The door's made of Delta alloy, nothing gets through that stuff._

 _Trust me, I've done it before._

Sam closed his eyes to force the power out, and to his surprise, he slipped into the timeless thought process instantly, without any perceived distortion in time. One second, normal, and before the next, nothing. With a thought, his power snaked out towards the door, and it pushed against the crystalline metal.

 _It's not going through!_

 _I didn't say it would be easy. Keep pushing._

Sam braced more of his power against the door, and bit by bit, he felt it slipping through the crystal lattices, worming its way to the other side, gripping the door, and pulling on the handle. The lock beeped, and Sam pulled the door open.

"Thanks Johnny!" he loudly said into the phone. "I knew I could count on you."

"But I didn't –"

Sam hung up and turned towards Brandon. "Could you let me know if he's coming up the driveway?"

Brandon glanced nervously down the lit stairway. "Are you sure you should be doing this?"

"I don't have much of a choice at this point."

Brandon frowned and ran a hand through his hair. "Alright, but – oh wait, there's cameras down there!"

 _I can fix that too._

 _How? By rewiring the cameras or something?_

 _What? Uh, no, by making you invisible._

"Johnny took care of those too. They'll be on a loop from recent footage of the empty lab."

"Oh."

Once Brandon took position by the window, Sam stepped beyond the doorway and paused at the top of the stairs.

 _Okay, so now how do I do this invisibility stuff?_

 _There's a lot of ways to do it, either by making the photons pass right through you, which'll make you unable to see by the way, reflecting back the photons that hit you so it'll look like they're passing right through you, or my personal favorite, killing everything in the room so there's no one to see you in the first place._

Sam had no words with which to answer the homicidal voice in his head. Recognizing the blunder it had just made, the voice said, _I'll shut up now._

Before he walked into the lab proper, Sam paused to figure out the invisibility trick. After some feeling around, he realized he could hone his senses to feel individual photons bouncing off of his skin, millions upon millions in every fraction of a second. Sam tried mimicking the photons bouncing off of him, but he could never manage to control more than a few dozen out of the torrent. Then he shut them out altogether, only to find his vision blocked by the lack of photons hitting his retina. He thought of blindly stumbling around the lab until he found something and thought better of it in the event that he might knock over something expensive.

In the end, his lie to Brandon gave him the inspiration. Maybe he couldn't control countless random photons bouncing everywhere, but he could simulate the steady streams of laser light emitted from the room's equipment and block out everything else, making the cameras see nothing but a normal, dark room. With a quick search, his power found all three cameras and blocked off their input, feeding them a loop of what Sam had observed.

When he walked inside, the lights snapped on, but the cameras still saw nothing. While holding the cameras in darkness, he checked drawers and cabinets by opening them with thin tendrils of power and swept the room for any signs of the sensation of power he felt during his first visit. After a minute of searching, he found a muffled scent of it coming from a heavy Delta-alloy safe hidden behind a wall panel. He sprung the lock open from the inside and examined the contents.

Row upon row of blood samples rested in metal holders all along the walls, while thin flesh samples and cell-infused solutions wedged between glass panes were carefully stacked in the middle. On each piece of glass, a clear sticker with printed black text marked the number and date of each sample.

"Omega project, sample SM18-3, July eighth… hey, that was a few weeks ago."

 _The blood samples are much stronger than the rest,_ the voice quietly pointed out.

Sam didn't answer the voice as he held up several of the slides. "Omega project, sample CT0-6, Omega project sample QF0-18, sample IR0-11, all taken around fifteen months ago."

Sam pulled out more blood samples and scanned them. "SM18-1, SM17-5 hey, that was last year, SM14-1 from four years ago, SM9-5 nine years ago.Come to think of it, these look like the vials that doctor had."

 _Drake?_

"Yeah, that guy. Kind of hard not to remember those vials when he keeps sticking them in me every chance he gets. So, do you know anything about this?"

 _Not a clue._

"Great. Guess this was a complete waste of time."

 _Not really. Now we know to look for Project Omega._

Sam returned the vials and closed up the safe. "Right. Let's just waltz up to Sinex headquarters and ask to see their top secret files. I won't get arrested for that."

The voice didn't answer. Instead, Brandon's voice came down the stairs. "You better get back up here, he's back!"

Sam ran out of the lab, turned off the lights behind him, and closed the door. Then he felt the power ebb out of him, and a sudden headache made him sink to his knees.

"Hey, are you alright?"

"I'm fine, just – just nerves." Sam took a deep breath and imagined himself on a wooden stage. "It – it isn't easy, doing all this."

Brandon placed a hand on his shoulder. "You can always stop, you know. I know this is important, but if it's too much for you, just tell them. They can't blame you."

"I know. I can do this." Sam took more breaths, stood up, and nodded at Brandon. "Thank you."

The front door opened, and Thaddeus Oak walked in, bearing two McDonalds bags under his arm.

"Thank god they started serving breakfast all day," he said, upending the bags onto the counter. "If I eat another one of those burgers I think I'll have to burn the place down."

Sam ate quickly, struggling to keep composed as each heartbeat made him feel like his skull was about to split in half. After choking down two sausage biscuits, he crumpled up the wrappers and headed towards the door.

"I should be going now, or I'll be late to work."

"Ofay fen," Brandon said through a mouthful of pancakes, "Fee you laffer!"

Sam ran home, his gut racked by wave after wave of nausea. He stopped at a random deli and quickly used their restroom, depositing two half-chewed biscuits and ground-up beef into a toilet before walking the rest of the way home. When he got back, he went straight to bed and popped open the plastic bottle on his nightstand. As he tipped two pills into his hand and raised them to his mouth, he stopped. A signal, much like the blood samples but far fainter, wafted from the pills. He slipped into the state of power and examined them more thoroughly.

"I think I should make an appointment with Doctor Drake sometime soon."

 _Or you could just break your ankle again._

Sam couldn't tell if the voice was joking or not.


	15. Chapters 29-30

A/N: Way too long since I got chapters up for this. I really need to stop being so lazy about it.

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Medical Confidentiality

On center stage, holding a crumpled carton of orange juice and scattering papers all over a cafeteria table, Samuel Milone rehearsed the role of Wesley Harris, the fictitious nerd in Emily's production. Cursing the volleyball star that spurned his love and vowing revenge against the high school quarterback that held her affection, he stormed off stage, passing two actors, one in a football jersey and another in a cliché schoolgirl uniform. He walked up to Emily and handed her his lines.

"Sorry I can't stay longer, I've got an appointment."

"Don't worry about it," she said without a smile. "You're not the one that needs practice."

As Sam walked towards the door, Emily called his name.

"What is it?"

She set the papers on a chair and straightened out her hair. "I, uh, I know neither of you will tell me what happened, but at least you guys made up. So, I'm sorry about… last time."

Sam thought through a lot of answers in the span of a second, largely assisted by slowing down reality, and settled on, "I deserved it."

Sam walked away, but Emily said, "No wait, I want to ask you something!"

He glanced at the time on his tablet. "I have to leave now."

"Just one quick question, okay?"

"Fine, what is it?"

Another actor walked in, asking for a spare script. Emily's face reddened, and she glanced away. "Actually, you should just get going."

"You sure?"

"Later," she replied, handing Sam's script to the actor. Sam turned around and walked out the door. In the parking lot, his mother's van idled in the school bus lane. He hopped in the passenger seat, and his mother took off towards the hospital.

"You should've told me sooner you weren't getting any sleep," Martha scolded. "We could've gotten this fixed sooner."

"I know mom, I just thought it'd go away as I took the medication."

Martha asked about the upcoming play for the rest of the drive. Once they arrived at the hospital, the same solemn building Sam broke into a few days earlier, they checked in the front lobby. A nurse guided them to Doctor Drake's room and opened the door for them. The doctor sat in a black leather recliner behind a white plastic desk. A white mug rested atop a thick pile of documents and folders. Behind the desk, a large glass window overlooked the grassy grounds around the hospital. Sunlight streamed past gauzy white curtains, leaving a wavy square on the floor.

"Ah, Sam, what a pleasant surprise!" Doctor Drake shouted with a smile, standing up and walking towards them. He shrugged as he shook Sam's hand. "Well, not really a surprise, since you were on the schedule, but you know what I mean. Have a seat!" He turned towards Martha and said, "I'm terribly sorry to ask you this, but would you mind waiting out in the hall? Some of my medical equipment is pretty sensitive, and I wouldn't want any errors in its calculations."

"Oh, alright." Martha left the office and closed the door behind her.

Once they were alone, the doctor took a seat in a large black leather chair and took out his wristwatch. "Alright, ready for the examination?"

"Just a few questions first."

"Well alright, go ahead, but make it quick, I have a schedule to keep."

"What exactly is in the pills?"

"Nothing that would cause insomnia, I assure you. Just read the ingredient label."

"Alright, next question. Does the word Omega mean anything to you?"

The doctor pushed his chair across the room, stopping just behind his examination table. "Omega? Well, I do know it's a letter of the greek alphabet, often used in reference to an end point. "I am Alpha, and Omega," I think the quote goes."

"Then, does the term 'Project Omega' mean anything to you?"

 _Under the desk,_ the voice told him, _he's reaching for a gun. It's got Delta alloy._

"Project Omega?" he asked. "Why no, I haven't heard of it. Now, I think we should get on with the treatment. I'm a very busy man, you see?"

Doctor Drake pulled out the dart gun, but Sam acted first, shoving his power through the metal and jamming its firing mechanism. The doctor pulled the trigger multiple times, but with each click, the gun did nothing.

"Well," the doctor said, inspecting the gun, "That's an unforeseen development. I'll have to let him know about this."

"Let who know? Who's behind this?"

The doctor set down the gun and leaned back in his chair. "What are you going to do if I don't answer?"

 _We should torture him._

"Wait, what?"

The doctor smiled at him and crossed his arms behind his back. "I asked, what are you going to do?"

 _I doubt he'll talk if we simply threaten him, and even if he does talk, he will probably lie._

Sam looked down at the floor and swallowed. _But – but you can't just do that to someone!_

 _Why not? Imagine what he's done to you, to us. News flash for you, I'm not exactly thrilled to be inside of you, and I'm willing to bet he had something to do with me being here. So, what are you going to do about it?_

"I – I can't"

"Just so you know," Doctor Drake said, "The moment I pulled the gun out of its holster, an alarm went off. I currently have a trained sniper aiming right at my head. So, even if you got me to talk, I'd never finish telling you what you'd want to hear."

 _He's bluffing. I can't sense anyone outside of the window._

"If you think I'm bluffing, go ahead and try. Make me talk."

 _Nevermind, I found them, about a quarter mile away. We can't do anything from here, and I don't think we could stop the bullet… but it's still worth a try._

Sam resisted the urge to look behind him, or move out from the spot of sunlight streaming through the glass. _No! It's not right, I won't do it!_

 _Why not? You've done things lots of people would say isn't right. You've lied, stolen, and beaten pokemon all for your own benefit. What's a little torture?_

 _Shut up! I'm nothing like you and I'll never be anything like you, so shut up!_

The voice fell silent. After a few seconds, the doctor stretched his arms and reached for the coffee mug on his table. He took a long, slow sip of the cold coffee before returning the mug to its place as a paperweight for all his patient files.

"Well, killing me is pointless, and torture won't get you anything. You're back to square one. That said, you do get a prize for figuring this much out. Ask me one question. If you ask the right question, I'll answer it. If not, then you get nothing, and your appointment will end."

Sam was taken aback by the doctor's offer. His mind went blank, and he struggled to think of a question to ask, but the voice stepped in.

 _Ask him why is he trying to bring back Darkrai._

Sam, puzzled by the voice, repeated the question. The doctor chuckled and shook his head.

"Good guess, but I'm afraid that's not the heart of the matter. Does make me curious how you heard about that name, but I don't think I'll be getting that answer from you today. Alright, get moving, my next appointment's coming up."

Sam stood frozen before the doorway. After a few seconds, Doctor Drake sighed, stood, and shoved Sam out the doorway.

"You'll be fine," the doctor said, shoving a plastic bottle in Sam's hands as he left. "Stop with the old pills, and just take one of these a day, that should do the trick, alright?"

Martha stood up from the chair outside the office and asked, "Is everything alright doctor?"

"Yes yes, quite splendid! It's just an allergic reaction to the old medication, nothing to worry about. I switched him onto a different medication that'll do the same thing. Let me know if you experience any other problems, alright?"

Martha gave the doctor a skeptical look before taking the bottle from Sam's hands and examining the label. After a minute, she thanked Drake and led Sam back to the car. Sam didn't say a word the whole ride back. He just shook his head or grunted whenever his mother asked him a question.

Once they returned home, Sam told his mother he wasn't hungry, went up to his room, and plopped onto the bed.

 _You have a lot of explaining to do,_ he told the voice in his head.

Chapter Thirty: The Deal

 _You said your name is Darkrai,_ Sam told the voice.

 _Yes._

 _What are you exactly?_

The voice paused for a moment. Sam felt the shadows in his bedroom creep towards him, as if listening in on the conversation. _I'm not really sure. I was… made somehow, when thousands of humans died. Made by Arkus._

An image flashed in Sam's mind of a zoroark, tall, proud, maned with fiery purple hair, marked with a ring of white fur around his right eye. The image showed Arkus crouched in a dark metallic hallway, dodging an arc of crackling black energy over his head.

 _And then what?_

Another scene appeared, one that Sam vaguely recognized from a dream. He saw a parking lot, cratered by mortar shells and littered both with robot parts and pokemon corpses, and a skyline littered with endless rows of towers. Atop one stood Arkus, holding a sniper rifle trained on him. Then bluish-black power burst forth from the barrel and punctured his eye. Then, nothing.

 _I thought I was dead. I was glad. I didn't have to listen to those fucking voices anymore. But now I'm stuck in you, listening to all your thoughts, and I don't have my own body._

 _Wait, you had voices in your head?_

 _Yep, every last human Arkus killed that day, all crammed in my mind, all talking at once, telling me to kill him._

Sam pulled up the blankets around himself. _How did you manage?_

 _I made a deal with them. I told them I'd kill Arkus, and in return, they'd all shut up._

 _Am I going to have to hear them too?_

Darkrai gave a mental sigh and said, _I think they're gone. Or at least, I hope so._

Sam got out of bed and filled up his mug in the bathroom. He brought it into bed and took a long, slow sip. _So, what about Project Omega? What do they want?_

 _Honestly, I have no idea. If I had to guess, I'd say it's been centuries since I was last around. A lot's changed. Especially the pokemon._

 _What do you mean?_

More images flashed in Sam's head, pokemon driving vehicles shaped to their physique, taking trolleys, running businesses and restaurants, reading, playing, laughing. Humans, hunched over, cleaning windows, scrubbing floors, and fighting in tournament rings with crowds of pokemon cheering at the spectacle. Sam could only stare at the wall in stunned silence.

 _Does it have anything to do with that?_

 _I doubt it. Humans seem pretty happy with the situation, and all the pokemon are braindead._

Sam glanced down at the pokeball on his nightstand. _Can't you fix them?_

Darkrai paused for a moment, and Sam could sense it was wondering why he cared. _There's nothing to fix. Whatever they had is long gone._

Sam fell silent for a moment, stroking the smooth metal of Luna's pokeball. Then, Darkrai said, _You still haven't asked the most important question._

Sam waited for Darkrai to say it. After a few seconds, Darkrai gave an exacerbated sigh. _What next?_

 _What can we do? Whatever Project Omega is, it's probably a Sinex Project, and there's no way we'd get any info on it just by walking up to the front counter and asking the receptionist._

Darkrai mused over this problem for a moment. _You could try Johnny. He might hack the servers, if you asked._

 _I'd need a good reason, and I doubt I could convince Mr. Ducall to start poking at Sinex._

 _Go through the cop then._

 _Yeah, sure, I bet he'd gladly help me commit another crime and risk getting fired. Or thrown in jail with me._

 _What about the professor? He had your blood samples. He probably knows something._

Sam groaned and pressed his face into his pillow. _Brandon would have a million questions._

Darkrai spent another minute thinking before it said, _Maybe we're getting off track._

Sam sat up. _What do you mean?_

 _What I mean is this: what is our biggest problem right now?_

Sam placed a hand on his chin and thought about it for a moment. _Well, if I had to pick one, it's the fact I'm hearing a voice in my head, and I'm pretty sure you're a sociopath._

 _And mine's being stuck here with you._

 _In other words, you want out and I want you out._

 _And while Project Omega might help us achieve that,_ Darkrai added, _we might find a way without it. And I think we can start with figuring out where and how Chainsaw got their power._

Sam sagged into his bed. _Ugh, don't remind me of that. I've got another match tomorrow and I've got nothing._

Though Darkrai lacked lips, Sam could imagine the shadowy presence smiling. _Then how about we fix that?_

Sam's thoughts froze. Then he asked, _How?_

 _Let's make a deal. I help you win your million dollars, and you help me get my body back._

 _Why the deal?_

Darkrai took a deep breath. _Let's suppose you find a way to destroy me while leaving yourself intact. What would you do?_

Sam struggled not to answer that question, but the answer came to mind anyways.

 _Exactly. And I don't blame you. Lord knows I've wanted to strangle each and every single voice in my mind. So, now that we've established that I can help you, and vice versa, we won't destroy each other._

 _Well, I suppose that works._

 _Good._ Sam saw the warehouse where he fought Mr. Gold the second time. _Then let's go there. It'll be perfect for what we have to do. And bring Luna._

Sam stopped just before the doorframe. _What are we going to do to her?_

 _Does it matter?_ Darkrai asked back.

 _Of course it does! I can't just…_ Sam turned away from the door and set Luna's pokeball on the nightstand.

 _Let's suppose you don't go through with it. Then what?_

Darkrais' question made Sam's stomach churn. He thought through all his other options and ran into the unavoidable brick wall that was his million dollar debt.

 _I won't lie. This won't be a pleasant experience for Luna. What I can assure you is that it won't be any worse than the alternative._

Sam's head spun, and he half sat, half collapsed onto the floor. He tried to force tears out, but his eyes remained dry.

 _Fine._ He stood up and took Luna's ball. _But she has to agree to this first._

 _And if she doesn't?_

Sam smiled to himself and thought, _I'll just have to find some other way. I always do._

Darkrai remained quiet in the back of Sam's head as he put on his old mask, snuck out the front door, and crept towards Mr. Ducall's warehouse. When he arrived, he picked the lock with his power and swung the door open. The warehouse was gutted, completely empty except for two filing cabinets in a corner near the door. Out of curiosity, Sam unlocked one and peered inside, finding nothing but cobwebs, dust, and a few slivers of paper.

 _Perfect. Let's get started._

"Wait," Sam said aloud. "Luna has to agree, remember?"

Sam pressed the button on Luna's pokeball and set it on the floor. She popped out and sat in front of him, first glancing around the warehouse and then attentively staring up at him.

 _Now, what exactly will happen to her?_

Sam sensed the mental equivalent of a shrug. _Honestly, I don't know. I've never done this before._

 _So, you don't even know if it's going to work?_

 _It worked for Chainsaw. That poliwrath too._

Sam gritted his teeth and took a deep breath through his nose. His throat itched, and he held back the urge to cough.

"Listen, Luna. There's a way we can beat Chainsaw. Problem is, I have to do… something to you. I don't know what's going to happen or if it'll hurt you, so that's why I'm asking you first. If you don't want to go through with this, then tell me."

Luna craned her head to the side and flopped her ears over.

"I – I know this is confusing. I don't understand it either. But our options are either getting pounded by Chainsaw for the rest of the summer, then I'd probably be forced to hand you over to cover my debts, or doing this." Sam looked down, away from Luna's gaze. "I'm sorry."

Luna backed away a step. Then, with a deep breath, she stepped forward, placing one paw on his knee and reaching up to his waist. Sam rubbed the top of her head and asked, "Are you sure?"

Luna stepped down and nodded.

 _Shall we begin?_ Darkrai asked.

Sam felt one last prickle of doubt in the back of his head. He grappled with the urge to ignore the voice in his head and tell his mom he was schizophrenic. But that wouldn't make his debt go away, and that certainly wouldn't help him surpass Brandon.

"It has to be done," he told himself. "I'm ready."

 _Then place your hand on Luna's head._

Sam reached down, spreading out Luna's ears and resting his palm on the gently glowing ring atop her head. She trembled beneath his touch, but she didn't move away from him.

 _Now, give her my power._

Sam fumbled around with the power, sending stray wisps darting into the air, but then one connected with Luna's head, and the rest snapped into position, wrapping themselves around Luna's skull and pumping power into her like a second heart. Luna stiffened and jerked in the invisible coils, but she was held fast. Her eyes clouded over, their yellow hue darkened to a shade approaching black, and her yellow rings glowed intensely enough to leave afterimages on Sam's retina. As more and more power seeped in, Luna gasped for air, and her heart skipped beats.

 _Pull away, now!_ Darkrai shouted.

Sam jerked his hand back, and the tendrils snapped. Luna slumped onto the floor, taking long, exhausted breaths. Every muscle in her body trembled, and sweat trickled down her fur, leaving a musky puddle around her. Breath by breath, the trembling subsided until she could stand on her own feet.

"How do you feel?" Sam asked.

Sam backed away as he felt power well up in Luna. She darted around the room, so fast Sam could only tell which way she ran by the gusts of wind left in her wake. Then she leapt up to the rafters in one bound, bounced her way back down between two pillars, and stopped right in front of Sam. Wild, feral glee sparkled in her amber eyes.

Sam hesitantly reached down to pet her. Luna sat down and closed her eyes, leaning into the strokes of his fingers and purring softly.

"Good. I was worried for a second." He called Luna back to her pokeball, locked up the warehouse, and walked home. Sam tiptoed up to his room, plopped down on the bed, and held Luna's pokeball to his chest. Even through the metal shell, he could feel the power Luna absorbed wafting out of the seams.

 _Well, Darkrai, how did it go?_

The specter's chuckle echoed in his mind. _Way better than I thought it would._


	16. Chapters 31-32

Chapter Thirty-One: The Chainsaw Cracks

Sam prodded a slice of meat lover's pizza on his plate as he watched an absol tear into a mightyena with its claws. His stomach grumbled, but every time he brought food to his mouth, he tasted bile at the back of his throat.

 _Eat,_ Darkrai told him. _It'll calm you down._

Sam reluctantly raised the pizza slice. As an acidic tang overcame his tongue, he shoved the pizza past his lips, washing away the bad flavor with grease and tomato sauce. A few bites later, he loosened up and leaned back in his seat. He scanned the room, checking the faces as the brawl continued. Most were raptly watching the scuffle, and a few were occupied with food or drink. The security guards' gazes wandered across the room like automated cameras.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a white-clad figure watching him, but when he turned towards it, the figure turned away and hunched over a hamburger, taking a slow, messy bite through their mask. He thought about walking over and checking out the new arrival, but before he could leave his seat, he was called down to the locker room.

At the locker room, Sam took off his mask and called out all his pokemon. The tiny room felt crowded and stiflingly hot, as Coalfoot towered over everyone and gave off heat in flickering waves. Aconite and Morel shrank away from the rapidash, seeking refuge in the relatively cool corners of the room, while Cloud fanned out his feathers, soaking in the heat. Luna sat in front of him, exuding power that the others felt. They left Luna a respectful three-foot clearing and eyed her cautiously.

"We're going to win this time," Sam told them. "I'm supposed to use three pokemon, but all it'll take is Luna. If you want another crack at Chainsaw, now's the time, but I won't ask you to face it."

Coalfoot, Aconite, and Cloud all immediately shook their heads. Morel and Jaeger, however, stepped forward and nodded.

"Alright. I'll make sure you guys don't get hurt."

After he called them all back, he slipped on the mask, wiggling it around so it sat comfortably on his face, and walked out to the arena. Chainsaw was out and waiting, claws braced to smash stone. The Oni-masked woman sneered at him.

"Haven't had enough yet? You should get up, all these easy wins are getting boring."

Sam said nothing as he threw Jaeger's pokeball. When the match started, Jaeger skated left and flung an ice-laden gust at Chainsaw. The scizor raced right through it and smacked at Jaeger's chest with blinding speed. Sam called Jaeger back before the blow could fall, and the concrete where Jaeger stood was smashed to pieces.

"Calling it quits so easily? Come on, I was hoping you'd try something clever."

Sam called out Morel and ordered it to fill the arena with spores. Chainsaw danced away from the billowing orange cloud that wafted from Morel's cap.

"Now that's better. Aerial ace!"

Chainsaw sliced cleanly through the air, parting the paralytic spores as it raced forward, but again, Sam returned Morel before the blow could land. Chainsaw's claw struck the kinetic barrier, sending a ripple through the transparent membrane.

The Oni-mask clenched her fists and shouted at him. "Is that seriously it? Stop screwing with me and fight!"

Sam picked Luna's pokeball from his belt and held it in his hand, basking in the power that flowed out of it. He smiled at the woman and said, "Be careful what you wish for."

He hurled Luna's pokeball forward. When she emerged, poised to tackle, Chainsaw backed a few paces away. The Oni-masked woman noticed this and frowned.

"Alright then, x-scissor!"

As he ordered Luna to dodge left, his vision blurred. He felt an unfamiliar, intoxicating mix of feral glee and adrenaline. Then his vision returned, and he saw double – his own sight and Luna's overlapped. A new thought pattern encroached on his mind, one of tensing muscles, agile twists, and deft sidestepping.

As they dodged blow after blow, the tenuous mental link strengthened to a full two-way communication bordering on a melding of minds, with Sam analyzing every twitch of the scizor's muscles from his and her perspective, cross-referencing it with Luna's physical state, calculating the optimal route away from the oncoming attack, relaying that information to Luna's conscious, and feeling her body respond to the command.

On a wild, overreaching attack, Sam decided to take the offensive. When he passed on the order, he felt overwhelming ecstasy. Each pound of force applied by Luna's powerful back-kick to Chainsaw's thorax felt like every perfect test score Sam had ever received, distilled into a single, drawn-out second.

Caught up in Luna's excitement, Sam called for attack after attack, losing track of his own perspective and focusing entirely on Luna's whirlwind of animal instinct. They exchanged blow for blow. Sam felt the bruises forming wherever Chainsaw's swipes struck, blood trickling down fur, ragged breaths through a broken rib, surfacing and vanishing as wounds miraculously healed themselves, flesh knitting together, bones fusing in place, skin tingling as the bruises faded away.

Chainsaw's wounds also healed, but at a slower pace. Cracks formed in its metal exoskeleton faster than they could fuse together. After a dark pulse, whole slivers of metal scattered across the concrete floor, exposing tender flesh beneath. Luna's instincts drove them forward, lunging at the hole. Her teeth sank into the skin, and blood gushed out of the puncture wounds, filling Luna's mouth with a harsh, metallic tang that redoubled her sense of euphoria.

Chainsaw staggered back, holding one claw over the wound and aiming the other at Luna. Silver light gathered at the end of its arm, and a gleaming sphere shot towards her. She danced aside, forming a dark pulse and firing it back. Chainsaw staggered back, arms flailing as it struggled to stay on its feet. Luna darted forward, slashing at the exposed wound. Blood spurted out, drenching Luna's fur and blinding her. From his own perspective, Sam dimly recognized the scizor racing forward, but they had already instinctively ducked right. Chainsaw grazed her cheek, and as it passed, she tripped it with her tail. She quickly wiped the blood from her eyes and lunged again, pinning Chainsaw against the floor. It bucked and flailed, but Luna pushed on the seams in its armor, cracking its exoskeleton as she forced its arms into painful angles.

Luna threw her head back and gave a triumphant roar. After a second, Sam realized that he had joined her, arms outstretched, howling up at the spectators. He was showered with applause. Then Luna blasted Chainsaw with pulses over and over, bludgeoning its face and chest. Cracks spiderwebbed its crimson armor, and large chunks were blasted aside. Crackling energy seared the flesh underneath, filling Luna's nose with a pungent, acidic odor.

Luna's heartbeat flooded Sam's ears. He was lost in her battle rage, willing her on, reveling in every spike of adrenaline that accompanied a fresh geyser of blood. Silently at first, but rising to a deafening level, he heard Darkrai chanting to the beat of their hearts.

 _kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill_

The armor guarding Chainsaw's throat flew off, bouncing to a stop in front of Sam's feet. As Luna leaned back, opening her mouth wide, the chant finally snapped him out of Luna's bloodlust. Trembling and exhausted from the whirlwind of sensations, he had only the strength to whisper, "That's enough."

The chant stopped. Luna's ears pricked up, and she backed off of the scizor. It struggled to rise, but it couldn't move its dislocated arms. After watching it flail its legs for a few seconds, the referee threw the white flag. The applause echoed across the arena. A few patrons stood and whistled.

Sam, too exhausted to even think straight, didn't wait around for the prize money. He called back Luna and walked for the break room, struggling with each step to keep his trembling legs from buckling beneath him. When he heaved the door open, he collapsed on the floor, panting against the cold, hard concrete. He clambered up a bench, twisted himself forward, and leaned back. Then he threw off his mask and pulled up his shirt, pressing his bare back against the wall. Vomit rose up and filled his mouth. He held it back with a gloved hand, letting only a trickle escape, and swallowed the rest with a grimace.

After five minutes, he stopped shaking. He shoved his shirt back in place, wiped off the stains around his mouth and pushed his mask on. Then he took a deep breath and said, "I need a shower."

Brandon felt sick to his stomach, either from the greasy hamburger sitting in his gut, or from watching blood spurt out of the scizor's wounds as Luna mercilessly mauled it. Every instinct told him to get out of there as fast as his legs would take him, but he forced himself to stay and watch.

Then he heard a howl. He was taken aback for a moment, wondering how Luna's voice sounded so human. Then he saw Sam howling with her.

Brandon couldn't believe his eyes. The calm, quiet, amicable Sam who busied himself with his studies, was now howling like a feral beast as his pokemon tore another to pieces. A sickening epiphany settled into his gut, and he cursed himself for being stupid enough to believe such a ludicrous string of lies.

The moment the battle ended, he pushed his half-finished burger aside, wiped the grease off of his white mask, and headed for the elevator. After he pushed the button, he looked back down at the arena, hoping to find some shred of evidence to prove himself wrong, but Sam was already gone.

Chapter Thirty-Two: Curtains Up

Sometime early in the morning, Sam received a text from Emily. Tired out from the brawl the previous night, he slept right through it, and breakfast, and was only woken up by the smell of grilled sandwiches. Lured downstairs by a rumbling stomach, he wolfed down three whole sandwiches before retreating back to his room and going back to bed. Before he drifted off, however, his hand fumbled around the nightstand for his phone, which he lay on his forehead and checked the notifications. Five hours after she sent the text, Sam finally read it.

"Please meet me at the café at noon, before the play starts. I have a question I need to ask you."

Sam glanced at the clock. It was twenty past the appointed time. His heart skipped a beat, he fired a quick apologetic text, and he sprinted out the door. Halfway to the café, his stomach started aching. The combination of heavy eating and sudden exercise made bile rise to the back of his throat. He slowed to a fast walk and held his hand over his mouth the rest of the way.

Once he walked through the door, he scanned the café and found Emily waiting in the usual seat, with a lukewarm, half empty espresso sitting in front of her and a full cup of black tea at Sam's spot. Sam sat, washed the bile out of his throat with the tea, and said, "So sorry, I slept in."

"That's okay, we have time. So, I, um, have a question."

She looked down, and her face reddened considerably. Even in his half-asleep, half-sick state, Sam noticed and wondered about it.

While he waited for her to speak, he took a long, slow sip. When her question didn't come, he asked, "So… are you going to ask it?"

"That's the question. Should I ask Brandon out?"

The mug of tea stopped halfway to the table. He blinked for a few times, and then he said, "You're asking him out?"

Emily straightened her hair, pushing some of it in front of her face. "Yeah, I thought I'd like to try it before we'd go off to college. And, well, I thought it would be cool to ask him after the play, you know, when we're all up on stage for the bow and stuff."

It took a moment for her plan to sink into Sam's mind. When it finally did, it landed with all the grace and serenity of an exploding jumbo-sized passenger plane. He pieced together how best to delicately tell her she was out of her mind. Then he started, "I think you should-" However, before he could finish, Emily's phone rang. She glanced at the number and brought it up to her ear. After a short conversation, she stood and threw a ten on the table.

"Sorry Sam, it's an emergency. The lights aren't working." As she sprinted towards the door, Sam tried to stop her, saying "We should talk on the way there." By the time he got his money on the table and went after her, she was already halfway down the block, and he didn't make it fifty feet before his stomach started hurting again. He watched Emily disappear down a corner as he limped after her.

On his way to the school, he mulled over how he could have possibly missed this development. To him, it felt as though the relationship between Brandon and Emily had gone from polite acquaintances to potential romantic interests… but how?

 _They text a lot,_ Darkrai mentioned. Sam felt tempted to tell it to shut up, but instead, he let the specter's input roll around in his head.

"Yeah, they did chat quite a bit over the phone," Sam wheezed to himself. Up ahead, he could see the school entrance. He picked up the pace as he listened to Darkrai piece together more of the iceberg's underbelly.

 _She also gave him front-row tickets, every play. He came to most of them. And she also gave him a birthday gift. Remember that book? And she's always asking him if he wants to stop by the café, helps him out with studying once in a while, and she gets upset over him._

Sam flinched when he remembered the rock that Emily threw at him. "Oh, that makes more sense now."

 _Also, this would've been a lot faster if you had just teleported here._

"Wait, what?"

He pushed on the front doors. The first one he tried was locked, as was the second. The last door he tried, the farthest on the left, grudgingly opened for him. He dashed for the auditorium and found Emily standing center stage, bathed in the glow of theater lights.

When Emily saw the doors open, she smiled and waved. "Oh, hey Sam! Turns out they forgot to turn on the power strip."

Sam took a few deep breaths and walked up to her. "We should continue that conversation we had in the café."

Emily glanced at her watch. "It'll have to be in the middle of act one. Right now, you need to get into costume."

She dragged Sam down a hallway and shoved him into a closet. He rushed the costume designer through the process, wriggling into a shiny white polo with a thick pocket protector and a pair of khakis. The polo was tucked into the pants and fastened into place with a belt that tightened painfully around his aching gut. Then the designer parted his hair down the middle, or rather attempted to, since his unruly hair refused to remain in position without copious application of water and hair gel. Then she pockmarked his face with dollops of red makeup, providing the illusion of serious acne, the likes of which would require violating the Geneva Convention with extended chemical warfare.

Taking a pair of thick-rimmed glasses, lenses removed, and a handful of pens with him, he ran back to the stage. Emily was nowhere to be found, but he spotted Brandon in the seats, ready for the play to begin. He wore a striped blue dress shirt and black dress pants, and his hair was combed back with a tasteful amount of hair gel. Sam waved at him as he walked over. Brandon spotted him, and a strange, dour look crossed his face for an instant before it was replaced with a smile.

Normally, Sam would have dismissed the look, but Emily's sudden confession made him far more wary of emotional cues. So, he asked, "Is something the matter, Brandon?"

The smile on his face widened, and he said, "No, no, I've uh, just had a lot on my mind lately."

"Like what?"

"Like… like… I'm sick of lies, Sam."

"What do you mean?"

Brandon's smile vanished and he looked away. Sam backed off and took a seat to the left, leaving one seat in between them. "Sorry, shouldn't have asked."

"No no, it's fine." His brow scrunched up, and suddenly they lifted, as if he had just found an idea. "Well, you already know the secret."

"Huh?" Brandon thought for a moment, then his face flush as he remembered. "Ah, that." He brought his voice down to a whisper and leaned closer. "Well, you don't really have any choice. Imagine if word of that got out."

"Would it be so bad?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

Brandon adjusted his glasses and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. "Well, if everyone knew, I wouldn't have to worry about hiding it anymore. I used to think that the worry was worth having nobody know, but well, you know, and you don't seem to care."

"That's different, Brandon. You know they'd all make you miserable over it."

"It already makes me miserable. Her too. Doesn't your own secret make you feel horrible?"

Sam froze up for a moment as he thought through the question. Then he shrugged and said, "It's what I have to do."

"You didn't have to do it. You could've just taken the money, and not resort to… extreme measures."

Sam took a deep breath and exhaled through his nose, struggling to easy his queasy stomach. "Right. But I made my choice, and there's no turning back. I'll see it through to the end."

Brandon's face darkened. "I see." Then the smile returned, albeit with less cheer. "You should get going. The play will start any minute."

Sam stood and stopped with one foot on the stage. He pondered warning Brandon about Emily's imminent and ill-advised proposal and decided he didn't want to tip Emily's hand. There'd be time to talk her out of it before the play ended, he assured himself.

Slapping the glasses onto his face and jamming the pens into the pocket protector, Sam rushed offstage, where Emily waited for him. The lights dimmed. Two set designers carried desks onto the set, and a third wheeled in a chalkboard. With a brushing motion from Emily, Sam and four other actors rushed into the seats, while a fifth approached the chalkboard with a long, slender teacher's baton.

"Alright, curtains up people," Emily whispered at the actors. The theater had no curtains, but Emily couldn't resist the charm of using such a time honored jargon of the playwright community. She bounced on her toes, working herself into nervous excitement as the audience settled into their seats. Then, with a snap of her fingers, the lights turned on.

And so began the most arduous, agonizing acting experience Sam had ever endured.


	17. Chapters 33-34

Chapter Thirty-Three: Curtains Crashing Down

A combination of exhaustion, nerves, and running around on a full stomach had sent him from minor discomfort to full-on food poisoning. His head spun as he attempted to recall his lines, which Darkrai kindly supplied for him after he stumbled through his first answer to the "teacher's" question.

He took a deep breath as a scene change granted him a moment's reprieve. He scanned the area for Emily and found her squabbling with the tech crew, ordering them to brighten the lights on center stage while they insisted the lights would go no brighter. Sam hustled towards them, but by the time he reached them, Emily had convinced them to lower the lights, thus brightening the stage, and moved on to coach an actress on her lines. Sam, in dogged pursuit, missed her yet again as she flitted over to her next micromanaging project. By that time, Sam's cue to return center stage was fast approaching, and he felt even more nauseous than when his break began. A makeup artist added a bent plastic rose to his pocket protector and squeezed some fake snot up his left nostril.

Next came a scene where he asked the high school cheerleading captain out on a date, with the fake snot dribbling out of his nose halfway through the proposal. The actress chuckled and rejected him outright, making it plain he couldn't pay anyone to date him. Sam didn't have to feign much of the ache he portrayed, channeling the jabs of pain from his roiling stomach to a dismal wail of heartbreak.

The lights dimmed, and the other actors left the stage, the cheerleader in the arms of the star quarterback and the rest following in their wake. Sam, wreathed in a slim halo of light and standing atop a cafeteria table in center stage, made a long, malicious, spiteful vow to make the quarterback rue the day he ever stole the affection of that serene angel from him. Sam rambled halfway through the speech, nearly passing out, but Darkrai snapped him awake and fed him the next line of his soliloquy.

As the second act began, with him stealing the quarterback's cell phone and chortling as he sent out a string of scandalous texts, he realized there would be only one more scene where he'd be offstage for longer than two minutes. He glanced offstage at Emily, who was, with the determination and single-mindedness of the Furies, coaching actors on their cues and lines, hounding after set designers to shuffle props in and off stage, and applying her own touches on makeup and costumes. Sam groaned inwardly and resolved to slip into the audience the next chance he got. If he couldn't stop Emily, he needed to warn Brandon.

After orchestrating a scene where one of the quarterback's two girlfriends stumbled onto a date with the other, Sam found his chance. The yelling on stage reached a crescendo as he slunk to the side stairs down to the auditorium. However, Emily spotted him and dragged him over to a dressing room.

"What are you doing?" she hissed. "You need a second coat of makeup, you're sweating off all the old stuff."

"No, listen, you shouldn't ask Brandon out in front of a huge audience."

"Uh-huh, got it," she shot back in a distracted voice.

"It would be incredibly uncomfortable and embarrassing for him."

"Yeah, keep going."

"And it forces him to say yes, or say no, make you look like an idiot, and him a jerk."

"Sure, sounds good."

Sam heaved a huge sigh and reached out to shake her shoulder, but a spasm of pain made his reach fall short. When Emily shoved him into a chair and applied dollops of gel to his face, all he could do was lay back, pant, and squeeze his gut.

"There, finished," she said. "Now let's get you back on stage."

"No wait, you have to listen–"

Emily gave him one last shove on the back, pushing him into the spotlight. Sam whirled back, but she had vanished into a sea of set designers. He worked a maniacal grin on his face, catching the spotlight above to cast shadows across his pimple-smeared face, and thought through his dwindling options to stop Emily from making a disastrous spectacle of herself.

He examined every tiny break from the stage and realized that, without ruining the play, he wouldn't have time to get to Brandon, and Emily wouldn't hear a nuclear explosion until the play was over. So, his last chance would be right after the play, in the slender few minutes between lights dimming, props getting shoved offstage, and everyone assembling for the final bow.

Sam struggled through the final act, which consisted of a final nefarious plot to ruin the quarterback's reputation with allegations of cheating in the final match of a football tournament. Deflating footballs and cutting straps on football gear while wearing the quarterback's spare uniform, Sam chuckled to himself and left the quarterback's prints on every flat surface he could find in the opposing team's locker room, which was portrayed with a few lockers on wheels and a rack of old, painted-over football gear from their school.

Then he watched from a cobbled-together set of bleachers, far away from the gaggle of girlfriends, as three actors pantomimed a football match. Then, with a half-hearted tackle, the straps flew off of one player, and he fell to the ground, clutching a shoulder and writhing in pain. Sam chuckled at the spectacle, while the girls gasped in horror and the quarterback dimly took in the scene.

And then came the allegations from the opposing quarterback, who saw Sam enter wearing the uniform. Angry debate ensued, a referee found the knife Sam had left on a bench, and the principal came over to administer punishment. However, one teammate had taken a picture of Sam leaving the locker room, and his pimply face came through clearly even on the phone's weak resolution. Thus, the play concluded with Sam's revenge thwarted and the quarterback getting both of the girls.

Though Sam had the luxury of sitting through the final act, his stomach roiled more and more during the game. When he was finally caught and escorted off stage, Sam tore out of the actor's grasp and dashed towards the stairs. However, the sudden motion made his stomach lurch, and vomit surged up his throat. He veered off to the right, towards an emergency exit, and rushed into the women's bathroom, flung open the first stall, and vomited all over the toilet seat. He raised it up and disgorged the rest of his stomach's contents into the bowl, coughing as vomit streamed out of his nostrils. Even after his stomach was empty, he kept dry-heaving convulsively, occasionally forcing out a tiny spittle of bile.

After five laboriously long minutes, it stopped. Sam examined the orange-brown goop coating the toilet with a pained frown, unrolled a handful of toilet paper, wiped his face clean as best he could, and hastily scrubbed the toilet. A thin film still coated the seat, but he remembered the final bow, washed his mouth out at the sink, and left the mess behind.

When he made it back to stage, Emily snatched his arm. "Where are you? It's bowing time! And what the heck happened to your makeup?"

Sam tried to answer her, but she cut him off. "Never mind, let's go. Go go go!"

She dragged him up to the front, in the center of a crowd of actors, and she swung him low into a bow that made his stomach cramp up. Then, as they rose, Emily took a deep breath. Sam realized it was do or die time and made to violently grab his shoulder, but the sudden rise made his head spin. Lights flashed before his eyes, and he couldn't catch his breath.

He struggled to stay awake, but then an idea struck him like a hammer. He stopped fighting the urge to stay awake and let himself slump over, but Emily held onto him with a grip like iron, so he remained upright, struggling to fall as Emily started the ill-advised question.

"Brandon, would you go out with me?"

Sam cursed at himself and made himself rise, blinking away a few stubborn lights. The crowd fell dead silent for a moment, then some girls within the crowd aww'ed and cheered them on. Brandon turned pale and nervously glanced around him. Every pair of eyes in the auditorium was squarely on him.

Sam started forward, intending to interrupt the affair and call out Emily for doing something so stupid, but Brandon stood up and haltingly said, "I – I already have someone."

That confession stopped Sam in his tracks. His exhausted brain couldn't process what he had just heard. Then, in a horrifying, icy-cold realization that culminated from thinking back on his conversation with Brandon, he realized exactly what Brandon was about to do.

Sam jerked out of Emily's grasp and shouted, "Stop Brandon! You don't have to say anything to this ridiculous question!"

The auditorium fell silent again. After a moment, Emily blurted out, "Wait, you… wait! You and Brandon! Seriously?" Then she muttered, "Well, that does explain the sudden friction between you guys."

Again, Sam's brain worked on a significant lag time, and it took him a full five seconds to realize what Emily thought was happening. His first instinct was to deny the relationship, but he decided it was better than the alternative. He thought about what to say to cement this theory, but he felt content to remain silent, since his refusal to say more would be taken as a confession.

Brandon, however, didn't settle for this controversy. He cleared his throat and said, "I get what you're trying to do, Sam, but I've made up my mind. I'm sick of feeling like I have to hide."

"It'll put you through hell," Sam argued.

"Just purgatory," Brandon retorted. "Keeping the secret is hell." Then he turned to Emily and said, "I am in a relationship with Marianne."

Sam cringed. Emily looked confused, as did everyone else in the auditorium. Then Emily's face transformed into a look of horror and disgust, and she blurted, "Your gardevoir!"

For a third time, the crowd stared, stupefied, silent, at the stage. Then the silence was broken when someone in the crowd said, "That's so weird!"

Sam jumped off stage and honed in on the masculine voice. He stopped next to a tall, burly senior seated next to his girlfriend. He had short-cropped brown hair and a rugged jawline. His red dress shirt bulged with the contours of his muscles.

"I could've sworn I heard someone say something," Sam asked, his voice as flat as a sheet of ice. "Did you hear it?"

The guy glanced at his girlfriend and then looked back, not meeting Sam's eyes. "I did."

"Do you happen to know who said it?"

The guy swallowed. A crowd around them stared, mouths open. Then, the guy took a deep breath and stood up, towering over Sam by a few inches. "I did."

"Really?" Sam cracked his knuckles. "Say it again, to my face. I didn't quite hear you."

Sam wasn't sure what about his smudged nerdy makeup, sickly pale complexion, shaking limbs, and faint voice that made the guy think twice about fighting him. After a long appraising look, the senior sat back down and looked away from him.

Sam stared him down for a few more seconds. Then he walked back to the stage, pushed himself up, took off the costume backstage, and walked out an emergency exit. His phone rang, but he ignored it as he walked home. His mother asked him how it went when he staggered through the door. He told her he was too tired, went to his room, and collapsed on his bed. He could still taste vomit on his tongue, but he couldn't muster the energy to grab the mug of water on his nightstand.

 _That was a disaster,_ he thought to himself.

 _Yep,_ Darkrai answered. _But does it really matter?_

The question made Sam blink. He explored its implications – he'd never see most of them again anyways, and it wasn't his problem to deal with - then he shrugged and thought, _I guess not._ His phone vibrated, signaling a twentieth text from Emily. He turned the phone off.

 _So, you mentioned something about teleporting?_

Chapter Thirty-Four: The Last Heist

 _Now, form a loop in between your hands,_ Darkrai coached him.

Sam forced power through his fingertips and made a black, airy circle between his palms.

 _Envision where you want the exit, and imagine the circle cutting through space to that point._

He wasn't entirely sure what this meant, but Darkrai supplied him with a feeling of a knife blade gliding against his skin. He shivered as the circle flashed, and the view of his room was replaced with a tiny window leading into the bathroom. He reached through it, swung aside a mirror over the sink, and pulled a bottle of toothpaste out of the cabinet. When the hole vanished, he went into the bathroom and replaced it.

 _Too bad I can't show Brandon,_ he thought. Then his smile vanished, and he sank onto the bed. He took out his phone. Emily had left him two phone calls and thirty text messages. The thirty-first came as he glossed through them. Brandon, on the other hand, was eerily silent. Sam opened up a text message and stopped with his finger over the screen, unsure of what to say. After a minute, he turned his phone off and left it on the nightstand.

 _Now what do we do?_ Sam asked Darkrai.

The entity within his mind mused for a minute. Then it said, _We need information. The ones who have it aren't showing themselves, so we need to do something big and eye-catching to lure them out._

 _Like what?_

 _One last heist, bigger than all the others. Announce it to the world._

Sam thought the plan through for a minute. Then he turned his cell phone on, sifted through his contacts, and dialed a number.

"Well hello there," Mr. Koborn answered, "What can I do for you?"

"I have a favor to ask."

Rustling sounds came through the line as the CEO settled into his chair. "I'm listening."

"I would like to arrange an exclusive interview. Make it a huge news spectacle."

The phone went silent. A few seconds later, laughter boomed through the speaker, and Sam hastily covered it with his hand.

"Perfect timing!" Kurt shouted through his fingers. "The masses are starting to get used to all the little heists. When will the interview be?"

"Four o clock today. Make sure it'll just be the two of us."

"I know just the place. The encryption key is "Coalfoot".

Koborn hung up, and a minute later, an email popped up on his cell phone. He opened it. A window popped up asking for an encryption key. When he typed it in, he saw an address, a room number, and the instructions "Bring your suit in a bag."

An hour later, on the ten o clock news, he saw an announcement for the live interview. He searched it on the internet and already saw hundreds of chats guessing at what will be revealed. Some had guessed his announcement of his last heist, but others theorized he'd turn himself in, or reveal himself, or even run for office. Already, there were a few sites popping up, proclaiming "Black Crow for Mayor."

Sam arrived about ten minutes before the appointed time, with his costume securely packaged in a backpack. The address led him to an old apartment building on the outskirts of town, in the middle of a quiet, clean neighborhood. He took the stairs up to the highest level, walked over to the farthest door, and knocked twice. The lock clicked open, and Sam walked inside.

Judging by how spacious the apartment was, every room on that side of the hallway must have had their walls torn down, forming one spacious lot. The windows were closed off with thick, bulky blue curtains, but row after row of tasteful, bronze, geometric chandeliers illuminated the room so brightly that Sam had to shield his eyes for a moment. His gaze, pushed floor-ward by the lights, noted that the floor was covered with a plush blue carpet. The wooden trim around the floor was painted gold, and the walls were also dark-blue with gold stripes zig-zagging towards the ceiling.

A long wooden table was laid out to his left, along the wall. Hors d'oeuvres were laid out on large white platters, ranging from shrimp circling a bowl of cocktail sauce to steaming jalapeno poppers lightly deep fried and drizzled with ranch. Sam helped himself to two mozzarella sticks, crunchy, piping hot, and dunked in marinara sauce, and sampled three shrimp without the cocktail sauce. Then he grabbed a bottle of root beer sitting in a metal pail of ice, snapped the tab off, and drained the whole bottle before turning around.

Mr. Koborn was seated in front of a camera, on one side of a circular wooden table. Two mikes sat on the table, pointed in opposite directions. At the moment, he was snapping open a lobster and sucking out the buttery meat while pouring himself another glass of wine.

"Help yourself to more if you want," he said through a buttery mouthful. "We've got another five minutes before camera." He picked up a remote on the table and turned on a television. It went straight to the PNC channel, showing two reporters explaining the upcoming live interview.

Sam took another mozzarella stick and sat down in front of the mike. He gave it a tap, expecting high-pitched feedback from some speakers, but the room remained silent.

"Mind if I ask what you're planning to say?"

Sam opened up his bag and squirmed into his outfit. "Wouldn't want to spoil the surprise," he said with a coy, nervous smile as he put on the mask.

Mr. Koborn shrugged and drank the cup of butter on his plate. "Works for me. Just don't swear, alright? We've got kids watching this."

Once Sam finished putting on his gloves and boots, Mr. Koborn pressed a button on his remote. The mikes and camera blinked to life, and the television snapped off just as the reporter announced the start of the interview.

"Alright, Black Crow, you're on."

Sam turned towards the camera and gave it a friendly wave.

"Hello, Palsitore City!" he called in a cheerful voice. "It's wonderful to be here on camera for you all. I hope you're all doing marvelous this afternoon."

"So, Black Crow," Mr. Koborn said as he wiped butter from his chin, "As I'm sure you know, everyone's simply dying to know what you plan to say. Would you be so kind and tell us why you appeared here on camera?"

"It would be my pleasure." Sam cleared his throat and leaned back in his chair. "Citizens of Palsitore, it was absolutely fun making heists the past couple weeks, but I think it's time to end the fun. After this next heist, I will abandon the life of crime and disappear." Then Sam leaned forward, catching the light of the chandeliers off of his mask. "And I'll be taking the Sapphire Heart with me."

Sam stood and took a clock off of the wall. He set it on the table so it faced the camera. "The time is just a little past four. In eight hours, at precisely midnight, I will steal the Sapphire Heart from the Palsitore Field Museum and make my escape. Officers of the law, I invite you to try to stop me. Do everything in your power to guard the precious gem." Then he laughed, a deep, throaty laugh that was muffled into a sinister cackle by his mask. "It'll only make the heist more interesting."

He nodded towards Mr. Koborn, and the portly man turned off all the recording equipment. Kurt clapped his hands, flinging butter all over the table. "That was amazing! Truly a spectacular performance!"

"You're not mad?"

"Mad? Why would I be mad? It had to end sometime, before everyone got bored of it. But now, everyone's going to be more excited than ever! Whole crowds will be in front of that museum, crowds! And you even had the balls to challenge the police!" He chuckled. "Oh, they'll try to make a spectacle of it. There won't be an officer in the whole city anywhere other than at that museum."

"I'm counting on it," Sam said. "I want this to be as flashy as possible."

Mr. Koborn grinned. "For your sake, I hope you know what you're up against."

Sam's phone rang. He fished it out from under his costume and checked the number before answering.

"You better have a plan," Mr. Ducall said, "Because there's no way in hell I can help you out with this one."

"I'll be fine," Sam told him. "Gotta go, I'll be making preparations."

Sam hung up the phone, said goodbye to Mr. Koborn, took his costume off, teleported it back to his room from the hallway, and went to the Palsitore Field Museum. The police had already set up a barricade, permitting access only after everyone passed a rigorous and thorough inspection. Sam cut through the mile-long lines by teleporting to a bathroom and blended in with the crowd, going straight to the room with the Sapphire Heart. People jostled one another to get as close a look as they could at the melon-sized blue diamond before it vanished forever.

Sam felt a tingling sensation on his skin, not unlike sunlight, despite the absence of windows in the room. However, the thick mass of people kept him from getting any closer than the entryway, and he had already seen what he wanted. He left, passing quietly through the guards at the entrance, and walked home.

After dinner, he told his mother he had work to do at the lawyer's office and went to the warehouse. With him, he had his outfit, two handfuls of flash and smoke grenades, and Luna's pokeball. He called out Luna and stroked her fur while he waited for the approach of midnight. His stomach rumbled and his eyelids drooped, but he kept himself in that one spot until his phone's alarm went off, telling him it was a minute to midnight.

 _You ready?_ Darkrai asked him. _They may find us here if they know what we're up to._

Sam answered him by making a first hole, just a bit larger than his thumb, about twenty feet above the Sapphire Heart. He cupped the handfuls of bombs, waited for the forty-five second mark, and squeezed them through. The room below filled with a cacophonous explosion of light and smoke, followed by a barrage of gunshots, strands of web, and currents of electricity filling the air. A gust of wind rushed through the wind, blowing away much of the smoke. The Sapphire Heart, however, remained hidden in the thickest cloud of smoke.

Sam concentrated on the second hole. He envisioned it slicing through the plinth the gem rested on, and had it emerge just in front of him. The hole snapped open, and the plinth's top, with the gem still resting on top, fell right in front of him. The marble was sliced clean and sizzled slightly against the concrete floor.

The moment the Sapphire Heart entered the room, heat poured out of it, as though it were a gasoline-soaked pile of burning cardboard. At least, it felt like heat, and yet, Sam shivered in the chilly air of the warehouse.

 _Whatever you do, don't touch that._ Darkrai seemed so terrified of the gem that Sam reflexively swallowed. Tightening up his gloves and yanking his sleeves over his arms, he gingerly reached for the gem. Darkrai screamed at him, but his fingertip brushed against the gem, and eye-searing blue light flashed from its center. Liquid fire rushed through his nerves, and his muscles contorted into unnatural, painful angles. A rush of voices flooded his mind before they were snuffed out by one anguished roar.

 _Didn't I tell you not to fucking touch that fucking gem?_ Darkrai screeched. Sam looked in front of him, but the gem was gone. All that remained of it was the plinth it rested on.

 _What the heck was that?_

A chorus of voices answered him, all calling names that became jumbled up into a writhing sea of syllables. Darkrai shouted, making Sam cover his ears despite the fact the voice was in his head, and the voices fell silent again.

 _Remember the voices I told you about, the ones that were in my head? That's them._ Darkrai sighed. _If only you listened to me._

 _But I was wearing gloves._

 _Did you really think flimsy cotton fabric would stop that radiation? You'd have better luck stopping a bullet with a sheet of paper._

Darkrai muttered to itself, or the voices. Then it said, _It isn't all bad, I suppose. We may need the extra power for whatever comes next._

High in a mountaintop, from whose peak the city of Palsitore was just a gleaming speck in the horizon, rested a temple carved into the mountain. From a balcony just below the peak, one man and a lucario stared out at that speck. They both wore plain white robes, and the man had a single pokeball at his side.

"Do you feel that?" the lucario asked.

"I do, Lady Chihiro."

Wind rushed up the mountainside. "That's his power. After six hundred years, he's finally shown himself."

"Shall we strike?"

Chihiro stroked her chin for a moment. Then she said, "Put him to the test. See how he reacts to being attacked and report back."

"And if he kills me?"

"I'll know."

The man knelt before the lucario and said, "I shall kill him or die trying, my lady." Then he stood and leapt off of the balcony, sliding down the mountainside on his bare feet. Chihrio looked out towards the speck and said, "It's time you pay for what you did, father. My revenge starts now."


	18. Chapters 35-36

Chapter Thirty-Five: Ambush

"Now Cloud, use hurricane!"

The pidgeot gave a single flap of its wings. Its feathers, laced with Darkrai's power, sent gale-force winds rippling through the arena, picking up Mr. Gold's poliwrath and tossing it around like a piece of straw. When it landed on its belly, it pushed itself up to its knees only to be pinned to the ground by Cloud's talons. With a swift peck to the head, the poliwrath let out a single sharp cry before falling silent.

The crowd cheered as Sam walked up the stairs to collect his reward. Mr. Deltoro regarded him with a sour glare as he handed him a sizable wad of bills.

"Only a hundred grand to go," he said dryly. "Then I'll never have to see you again."

Sam took the money and thanked him. As he left, he turned back around and saw the white-clad figure staring at him. He turned, and the figure took out a cell phone, swiping and pressing in no discernible pattern. Sam went up the elevator and out into the alleyways of the city.

Halfway to the safer districts, Darkrai said that someone was following him. Sam turned away from home and headed deeper into warehouse territory, where the only eyes around belonged to shady hoodlums and homeless bums. Deeper still he went, until the only two people around were himself and the mysterious pursuer.

He leapt up a fire escape and clambered onto a flat metal roof. Looking down the alleyways, Sam saw nothing but dirty, crumpled papers blowing across the cracked concrete like tumbleweeds, crumpled beer cans, and broken glass shards reflecting moonlight.

The other voices muttered, their voices bubbling over like a rice cooker. Darkrai shushed them, and silence returned. _He was just there a second ago._

Sam doubled back, bounding across rooftops and scanning the alleyways below. Then, without warning, he felt a heat wave approaching him from behind.

 _Left!_

Sam leapt to an adjacent rooftop just in time to avoid a blinding column of blue light lancing across the metal he stood on just a second earlier. The roof was torn to shreds and blasted into an alleyway, gouging the pavement and lodging shards into the brick siding of old buildings.

Sam turned around just in time to see a white-robed man before he vanished in a flash of blue light. For one adrenaline-rushed second, he thought it was the figure from the brawling ring, but then he realized that the robes looked nothing like the artful, elegant costume of that onlooker.

With a flick of his wrist, he called Luna out at his side. Just as quickly, however, a blue pokemon leapt from a window on an adjacent building and kicked Luna in the head. She skidded across the rooftop and went over the side. Sam dashed over to where she fell, just in time to see a second, identical pokemon, wielding a glowing blue staff shaped like a femur, slam Luna in the chest with the bulbous end. Sam called Luna back just before a second blow landed, which shattered the concrete like a clay pot.

The voices rose up in a chorus of "Kill him," growing louder and louder before Darkrai shrieked at them to be silent.

 _That's not him!_ Darkrai told them. _Now shut the hell up so I can get us out of this!_ Then Darkrai directed its voice at Sam. _Get moving! There's no way we can fight them!_

Sam sprinted forward, making it two rooftops before he was stopped by the white figure and its two pokemon. On first glance, the pokemon both looked the same, but with a closer look, he saw that the one on the right, the first assailant, had two additional bony protrusions at the ends of its arms, a fluffy white tail, and striking red coloration at its extremities.

At once, the assailant and his two pokemon formed blue spheres between their hands and flung them at Sam. They made gyrating trajectories through the air, defying any attempt to track them. In a panic, Sam made a circle with his own hands, slicing through the air and forming an opening behind his attackers. One of the spheres glanced off of the hole and flew off into the sky while the other two flew through the hole. One slammed into the back of the less spiny pokemon, and it flew towards Sam, gritting its teeth, arm wound back with a punch.

He felt a voice whispering in the back of his mind. His stance shifted, and time slowed to a crawl as the pokemon flew towards him. Then he bobbed right and threw a vicious jab right into its jaw. The pokemon flew backwards and landed in an alley. Blood spurted from its nose, and its feeble attempt to rise made it a foot off the ground before its paws slipped on its own blood.

Still perceiving everything in slow motion, Sam flicked his wrists, making smoke and flash bombs tumble into his fingers. He turned and flung them behind him, tossing more as he ran. He didn't make it four buildings before the other blue pokemon, the one tinged with red, leapt from out of an alley and swung at him with its bone staff. Sam leaned back and slid under it like a limbo champion, grabbed its leg, and dragged it to the ground. Then he stood up and kept running, filling the air behind him with acrid smoke.

"Now, just have to concentrate," Sam muttered to himself. He spread his hands wide and thought of home. A circle formed, weak and wobbly at first, but it slowly resolved itself into a sleek ring. But before he could cut, blue light raced at him from both directions. He backed away, and the two beams collided, creating an explosion that knocked Sam back into a wall. He fell forward, staring up at the human-sized indentation he left in the brick. It felt like his skull was cracked, along with a few ribs, but when he landed on his feet, all he felt was a fading bruise.

He darted down an alleyway, completely lost in the maze of decrepit buildings, and suddenly emerged in an old parking lot in the back of a giant warehouse, with wide lanes and huge garage doors to accommodate eighteen wheelers.

The blue pokemon was waiting at the far end, charging up another attack. Sam turned around, but the man was standing right behind him. His hands were emitting blue flecks as he wound up for a punch.

Just as Sam ducked aside, his skin burning as the man's fist grazed his cheek, a gunshot rang out. A bullet tore a hole through the man's robe, leaving behind a long, shallow gash that bled profusely. The man's side was stained scarlet, but when he passed his hand over the wound, the bleeding stopped and the robe was mended, bleached lily white.

Both Sam and the man turned towards the gunshot. All Sam saw was an empty rooftop with a smoke trail floating over it, but the lucario, teleporting to the spot, found and strangled an invisible figure. A loud thump and the ringing of beer cans announced where the invisible figure landed. Then, with a flicker of green, the man became visible. The Sinex phoenix was emblazoned on his shoulder.

While Sam was still distracted by the corpse in the alley, the man wound up a punch and slugged him in the chest. Sam tumbled back for what felt like a mile, getting cut and scraped by loose scraps of glass and metal, before he crashed arm-first into a wall. He had to tug hard before his right arm tore free of the masonry. It flopped around like a fish, but he didn't feel any pain, just mind-numbing shock and delirium.

The pokemon darted around a corner, staff in hand. Sam turned and started to run, but the pokemon passed him and slammed its staff into his left leg. He felt bones snapping at his kneecap as he tumbled to the ground. He reflexively grabbed for his leg, and realized that his right arm was moving again.

Sam tried to stand, but his broken leg buckled under his weight. The blue pokemon stepped aside, and the man walked up to him, holding a gleaming blue knife in his hand.

Every voice, his own, Darkrai's and all the others, screamed at him to move. But he couldn't. As the knife moved over his chest, he jerked his arms and legs. They were held fast by translucent blue manacles, pinned into place by the blue pokemon.

Then the knife fell. With one last push, he concentrated all his power into his right arm, snapping the manacle, and flung it in front of the knife. After that, something heavy fell on top of him. He couldn't see it clearly, because it blocked out the flickering street lamp right above him. He wriggled out from under it and tried to run, but he was yanked back by his right arm.

He looked back at it. From the shoulder to his elbow, it looked just like before, but everything from the elbow beyond was a hunk of gray rock, with a band of white iron in the middle of his forearm. The knife jutted from the stone just below the metal, wedged in to the hilt. The black leather jacket was torn to shreds around the stony mass that stretched down to his feet. He tried to move the arm and only succeeded in wriggling the claws, making a faint high-pitched screech as they scraped against concrete.

The man and his pokemon had backed away, taking stances at the other end of the alley and watching him carefully. After a moment, the pokemon charged again, baring a staff aimed at his head. Sam ducked behind the monstrous arm and felt it vibrate as the impact rocked it.

Again, he tried lifting it. This time, it slowly rose from the ground, inch by inch. He reached for the knife and yanked it out, then dropped the knife when he saw the skin of his left arm bulging out of his jacket and turning stone gray. He backed away and felt the ground shake beneath him. He looked down, and saw that his lower half had transformed. His stumpy gray legs cracked concrete with each step. Behind him, a tail trailed along, digging a furrow into the concrete chunks.

The blue pokemon charged again. Sam turned and whacked it in the chest with his metal-coated tail. It flew above the rooftops and landed in the middle of the parking lot, skidding to a stop on its knees. Sam charged forward, flinging a flurry of punches that the pokemon blocked with its staff. Then Sam did a headbutt, only realizing as he did so that the transformation had affected his entire head, giving him a pair of two foot long steel horns. The horns gouged the lucario in the shoulders while the dull metal plate of Sam's skull fractured the bone staff.

Sam finished the attack by leaping into the air, just a foot off of the ground, and slamming on top of the lucario's chest. The parking lot buckled, and a huge hole formed beneath him. When he finally landed, amidst broken pipes and mounds of rubble, he saw the pokemon beneath his feet glow blue for an instant before losing the extra spikes and red coloration that marked it distinct from the other assailant.

Rid light raced down the hole, scooping up the pokemon. Sam looked up and saw a flash of the man's white robe before he disappeared. Police sirens wailed in the distance, steadily approaching the deserted alleys. With no way to climb out of the hole, Sam burrowed deeper, eventually running into an old tunnel lined with metal cables. He wriggled inside, patched up the hole behind him, and walked for ten minutes. Then exhaustion caught up to him, and he sat down on the other side of a corner, breathing heavily and looking at his transformed hands.

 _How the hell do I make this stop?_ he asked Darkrai.

The specter didn't answer him for a minute. Then, it finally said, _I have no idea._

 _What do you mean you don't know?_

 _I don't know what this is._

Sam looked down at his right arm and saw the knife jutting out of it. He yanked the blade out and tossed it across the floor.

 _Maybe it was that guy,_ Sam said.

 _I don't think so. He was just as surprised as we were._ Darkrai paused for a moment and said, _But there was someone else there._

Darkrai showed Sam the image of the Sinex phoenix on the dead man's shoulder. Sam swallowed and curled himself up in a ball, made all the harder by his inflexible stone armor.

 _I just want this to stop,_ Sam said. _You, Omega, this, all I want is to have everything go back to normal. Is that too much to ask?_

As he thought this, his skin changed color. The ceiling shrank away from him, and the floor rose to greet him. Within seconds, he was human again, naked, alone, and lost in the tunnels. He wanted to bury his head in his dusty hands and cry, but the voices in his head urged him to go home, sleep, and get ready for the next fight.

He wanted to run, and maybe he could escape the brawling ring, and white-robed man, and Sinex, but how could he escape the voices in his own head?

Chapter Thirty-Six: Curiosity

Officer Bayson read the daily newspaper with a grimace of disgust. His mug of coffee, now tepid, went untouched. Alex clenched his teeth and gripped the edges of the paper tight enough to leave creases.

"This has to be a joke," he muttered to himself. "An earthquake? What kind of an idiot would buy that?"

Though newspapers showed only the structural damage to a parking lot, he saw with his own eyes, from the manila folder sitting on his lap, a broader picture of the damaged area. Whole rooftops were stripped off, and holes left in the street were clearly the footsteps of an enormous pokemon.

The waitress walked up to him and gently rapped the table. Alex jumped in his seat and knocked the mug over. Coffee sloshed off the top, but the waitress grabbed the mug, soaking her hand and keeping it from falling.

"Sorry to disturb you sir," the waitress said as she cleaned her hand with a dish rag. "I was just wondering if there was anything wrong with your coffee."

"Oh, no, not at all." Alex chuckled. "I guess I got distracted."

The waitress peered at the paper. The main headline proclaimed that the Black Crow yet eluded capture, but underneath was news of the quake. "Oh, you're reading about the earthquake? Thank goodness it didn't damage anything in the town, right?" She smiled and said, "Isn't it crazy? I didn't even feel it at all! It's supposedly because the foundation took the brunt of the quake for us."

Officer Bayson glanced through the article and saw the gist of a lengthy, nonsensical explanation coated with scientific buzzwords, and an additional list of reassurances and structural surveillance data to dampen the metaphorical earthquake caused by this news.

He frowned and set the newspaper down. "Yeah, it's crazy alright. And I'll take a new cup, if you don't mind."

"Certainly!" The waitress handed him a fresh cup that instant, having had it ready before she went to the table, and whisked away the old one. Alex took a long, slow sip, and tried to rest in his chair, but the news left him uneasy. Though he felt highly gratified by the heft of his old pistol at his wait, granted to him by the change in assignment, the police force suddenly calling off all investigation of the Black Crow and the Sapphire Heart was unsettling enough, and when coupled with this "earthquake", he got the distinct impression that something alarming, yet undisclosed to him, had happened last night. The commissioner was unusually tight-lipped about what the deceased Sinex agent was doing out in the middle of nowhere last night, or what caused such alarming destruction.

As he set down the paper and pushed his seat out, a jingle at the door caught his attention. Samuel Milone walked through the door, murmured a polite hello at the waitress, and took a seat in his usual spot. Alex walked over to him and sat down.

The instant he looked into his face, Alex sensed something deeply wrong with him. His eyes were unfocused, and he occasionally flinched and glanced out the window, as if something were hunting him. Once in a while, he would mutter "Shut up," even though the café was dead quiet.

"How's work going?" Alex asked.

Sam jumped and nearly knocked over his tea. An uneasy smile worked its way onto his face, and he gave a nervous chuckle. "Oh, I didn't even notice you there. Hello!"

Alex felt uneasy before, but now a feeling of paranoia seized him. He felt, against all logic, that this drastic change in mood was somehow tied to last night's events. Compelled to test the theory, he took out the manila folder.

"Work's fine for me," he said. "Just got a new job assignment that should interest you."

"Oh?" Sam looked anything but interested as he took a sullen sip of tea.

"Yeah, I'm not hunting the Black Crow anymore. Instead, I'm hunting some guy who killed a Sinex agent last night.

Sam's hands froze halfway to the table. He stared at the officer, the cup of tea still piping hot in his hands. Alex wondered how his hands weren't burnt to a crisp.

"What do you know about this guy?" Sam asked quietly.

"Not much," Alex said, watching Sam intently for any reactions to his words. "Just that he wore a white cloak that hid his face."

Sam flinched at the mention of the cloak. Alex decided to gamble again.

"You saw him, didn't you?"

Sam lowered his head, and his hands trembled. Tea spilled onto his fingers and dripped onto the table.

"I – I did."

"And you were here last night, weren't you?" he asked, pointing to the picture of the busted parking lot.

Sam looked away from the paper and nodded.

"Then what happened?"

"I – I… I have to go."

Sam threw a twenty on the table and rushed out the door. Officer Bayson dashed after him, but Sam had vanished down an alley.

Alex walked back inside, set a twenty of his own next to Sam's and took off towards the police station. He set every document on a table in a deserted conference room, shut all the curtains, and scanned the evidence, now with the information that Sam was likely the robed man's target. After an hour of thinking everything over, one question piqued his curiosity.

"Where did the big pokemon come from?"

Originally, he had assumed it belonged to the Agent, but he didn't have any pokemon with him. Then the robed man? But the robed man fled above ground to the north-west, while the pokemon's tracks went underground to the south-east before stopping suddenly. The robed man couldn't have possibly called a pokemon back from that distance and through the ground. Sam could've fled through the ground, and he did have pokemon with enough power to wreak that kind of havoc, but he didn't have anything that would leave footprints over a foot in diameter.

Maybe Sam got it from the dead agent? Maybe he killed the agent? But if so, why is the robed man the target for this murder? And what would a Spec Ops Agent be doing with an aggron in the first place?

He could feel a missing piece of the puzzle lurking in the shadows, somewhere, and he knew that only one person could help him find it. He took out his phone and dialed a number. It was picked up after one ring.

"I was wondering when you would call," Johnny said.

"Oh, you've been wondering about the new assignment too?"

"Of course. None of it makes any sense. Why redirect everything onto this criminal when, for all the public knows, this was just an earthquake and a master thief who humiliated the police force is still on the loose! I tried doing some digging, but I haven't figured out anything yet."

"Well, I know something that might help."

A pause came from the other line. Then Johnny whispered, "Go on."

"The kid was there. You know which one."

Another pause. "That explains a lot."

Alex stared blankly at the papers in front of him and swallowed. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I got really curious after that kid pulled off you-know-what. I did some digging. Well, a lot of digging. It wasn't easy, I tell you, that kid's secrets are well buried."

"Just spit it out already, I don't have all day!"

"Wait. You need to hear all of this." Then Johnny cleared his throat. "Anyways, the kid's personal record's as clean as a whistle, no discrepancies in his records or those of his parents, from birth to death. School history, medical records, all of it's there."

Johnny paused for a moment, and furious typing came over the phone. Then the typing stopped.

"Sorry about that, the commissioner walked by. So, after that turned up nothing, I decided to check on tax records, and to my surprise, Martha Bayson makes an impressive amount of money for owning an arts and crafts shop that doesn't turn up very high on a quick google search. So I went through her financial records, inventory stock, customer information, all of it. And it all checked out… until I traced the money to where it came from."

Officer Bayson leaned forward and glanced at the door behind him. He thought he saw a shadow walk by, but when he looked, the curtains were well-lit and fluttering in a slight draft, making the shadows in their creases shift.

"Go on."

"All of it's laundered government money." Johnny took a drink of something. "Research funds are funneled through a string of banks, in and out of accounts and to Martha's store."

"That's weird."

"It's not just weird, Alex. That kid's some kind of experiment. It's the only explanation."

"What – what do you mean?"

"All the money came from a specific project name. I won't say it now, not over the phone. Words like those, said over the phone, will draw unwanted attention. Meet me at the lawyer's place at midnight. I'll do more digging before then. Hopefully I'll be able to hack into their database and get what we need."

"That's crazy!" Alex shouted. He glanced back at the door, but no one was there. "Don't be stupid," he said in a quieter voice, "They'll catch you for sure."

"I'm a master hacker, remember? Just trust me, I got this. Heh, I'll even tell you I've done it before, just to see if I could. So relax, I'll see you there tonight. Gotta go, bye."

The phone hung up. Alex scooped up all his papers and went home, took Shi out for a walk, and tried to fry his brain with some television. He couldn't relax. At about ten, he tried calling Johnny and got no response. His paranoia reared its head, and he took off in his car. He raced for Johnny's apartment, screeched to a stop in a no parking zone, and knocked on the door. No response came. Alex fished a spare key out of a pot of loose dirt handing aside the door, with a shriveled up root jutting out at an angle from a hole in the key's base, and rushed inside.

Johnny was quite dead, sitting in a chair with two bullet holes through his back. His right hand was clutching a full cup of coffee, while the left dangled over the chair. From the blood pooled on the floor, which had only begun to curdle, Alex could tell that the murder happened about an hour ago, and powder burns on the back of his chair suggested that the killer pressed the weapon against it before firing. But he didn't consciously process all this at once. Instead, his fingers fumbled for the emergency number. After telling the officer everything, Alex checked the computer for any information Johnny had, but it was destroyed by two bullets through its harddrive and a generous dollop of blood over its circuits.

He searched the rest of the room and found everywhere he already looked ransacked, from the oven to the ceiling in the bathroom. Whoever killed him made absolutely certain nothing remained untouched.

Nothing… but the coffee cup sitting on Johnny's desk. From the smell, Alex could tell it was black, not to Johnny's tastes. On a hunch, he opened the cup and upended it over the sink. A plastic capsule, held to the bottom with a lead weight, tumbled out and plugged up the drain. Alex fished it out, cracked it open, and read the scrap of paper nested inside.

It read, "Project Omega."


	19. Chapters 37-38

Chapter Thirty-Seven: Two Dead Cats

Officer Bayson said a final farewell to Johnny as he came out of his apartment in a body bag. After answering a string of questions, he went back to the station. A skeleton crew manned the computers, and a few officers waited in the break room, nursing cups of coffee in their hands. Blinking drowsiness out of his eyes, he searched the police database for Sam's number. Once he had it, he walked out and called it. After four rings, Sam finally picked up.

"Hello, who is this?" Sam said drowsily.

"It's Officer Bayson. We need to talk. Meet me at the black and white squares…" Alex glanced at a clock on the wall. It was just past midnight. "In six hours," he finished. Make sure you're alone." Then he added as an afterthought, "If I'm not there after half an hour, go to Mr. Ducall's office right away."

He hung up. First, he went into a convenience store and bought a whole box of envelopes, a box of pens, and a spiral notebook. He took an envelope, a pen, and a piece of paper and threw out the rest. Then he scrawled a message, addressed it to Feathers, and sealed the envelope. Following streets down to the west side, he stopped in front of Mr. Ducall's office. After knocking loudly on it for a full minute, a bleary-eyed secretary finally let him in.

"You do know it's past our business – oh, it's you. Urgent business?"

"Absolutely. I need to see Mr. Ducall now. It'll only take a minute."

The secretary went over to an intercom and talked into it. After hearing a reply, she opened the doors to the lawyer's office. Mr. Ducall was sitting in his chair and drumming his fingers on his desk.

"Well, what is it?"

Officer Bayson slapped the envelope on his desk. "I might be dead by morning. If that happens, Sam needs to see that."

With that, the officer walked out. He didn't return home, nor did he go straight to the café. Instead, he roamed the busiest streets he could find, staying in well-lit areas and always within eyeshot of at least four people. However, as the night grew thicker around him, fewer and fewer people walked about, and more and more shadows stretched out from the alleyways.

At around four in the morning, he started seeing shadows out of the corners of his eyes. At first, he told himself he was imagining it all, paranoid of pursuit. But then he heard footsteps that weren't his own. Each time he looked back, the footsteps stopped, and all traces of people vanished.

He called out his crobat. "Hanzo, any trace of people around here?"

The crobat flew in a circle around him, hovered in front of him, and shook its head.

"Follow me, and let me know if you hear anyone, alright? It'll be dangerous, so stay sharp."

The crobat screeched a battle cry and fluttered behind him. Officer Bayson kept walking, for a while relaxed by the comforting presence of wing beats behind him. After a while, though, he started to feel uneasy again. He couldn't piece it together, until he turned around and saw that Hanzo was no longer there. There was no sign of struggle down the street.

Completely unnerved, Alex called out Shi. The arcanine barked happily at the fresh night air and nuzzled up against Alex's arm. However, it sensed its master's trepidation and stared at him curiously.

"Hanzo's gone," Officer Bayson hoarsely whispered. "Can you smell it or anyone else nearby?"

Shi pawed at the ground and sniffed the air. It caught a scent, barked loudly, and bounded off into an alley.

"No, wait Shi! Come back!"

Alex raced into the alley, just a few seconds behind the arcanine, but it had vanished. He looked for a corner or entrance Shi could have dashed into and realized that the alley was a dead end, with no doors or windows on either side, ending in a solid brick wall about twenty feet in. He looked up, wondering if Shi had somehow bounded up the walls, and saw an insurmountable brick façade on either side.

Sweat dripped down his face. As he wiped it away, a blur raced across his line of sight. In a panic, he threw out his last pokeball and hopped on his probopass.

"Atlas, get us the fuck out of here! Shi and Hanzo are gone, and odds are I'm next!"

The probopass roared and raced off through the streets. For the first minute, Alex let Atlas decide the route while he took a deep breath and watched for pursuers. Seeing no one, Alex directed Atlas towards the Checkered Café. When they were a few blocks away, Atlas suddenly lurched to a stop. Alex tumbled off of its head and landed flat on his back a few yards away.

"Hey, what happened? Atlas, are you still there?"

He rolled over and got up on his knees. Atlas was gone. Like the others, no trace of his presence or a struggle marked the disappearance.

Thoroughly panicked, Alex drew his pistol and ran down the streets. Shadows flittered in his peripheral vision, but every time he looked directly at them, they vanished. Footsteps thundered around him, and he felt ragged breathing at the back of his neck.

Rounding the corner, he made one final mad sprint for the Checkered Café. He yanked at the doors, but they were firmly locked. Glancing at his watch, he saw with dismay that he was half an hour too early.

"Son of a bitch," he said. Then he felt a tingling sensation on the back of his head, and he passed out.

When Officer Bayson finally awoke, he was sitting in the middle of an enormous hall of marble. A long wooden table loomed in front of him, with six seats along its length. He sat at one end of the table, and on the other end, a figure in a brown cloak watched him.

First, Alex checked his holster. To his surprise, his gun was still in there. A quick test of its cartridge showed it was still fully loaded. Alex turned his attention to the other six seats, and gasped when he recognized them. Two, representing Delta and Epsilon, were left empty. The other four chairs housed the Directors of Sections Alpha, Beta, Gamma, and Zeta. Thin purple strands hung from the ceiling, connecting to the Directors' arms, legs, and heads.

The figure moved one of its arms, and the strings jerked to attention. One string bounced up and down, making the Alpha Director's arm wobble in a comical wave.

"How nice of you to come," he said, his jaw jerking with the motion of a purple string. "I'm quite impressed with how quickly you pieced everything together."

"It couldn't be helped," the Beta Director said, his arm pinned back in a pose of mock despair. "That blasted monk screwed everything up."

The Gamma Director's arm bobbed up and down by her chin, miming a pensive pose. "Although, in a way, he proved quite beneficial. It greatly sped up my schedule, that's for sure."

"But that's enough of that for the moment. Now I have to deal with you."

The Zeta Director's arm swiveled, pointing at Alex. One by one, the other directors pointed, and then the strings went slack. The Directors slumped over, not even blinking when their heads slammed onto the table.

The hooded figure stood, and beckoned to Officer Bayson. "Time for the puppet show to end," it said with a thin, wispy voice. "Come here."

Alex stayed seated. Every nerve in his body screamed at him to run, but a quick glance around the room revealed that the only exit lay beyond the hooded figure.

"I said, come here."

Purple strands lanced out from the ceiling and stuck into Alex's limbs. Against his will, they bobbed up and down, mimicking a walking motion as he was dragged over the table and in front of the hooded figure.

"That's better. Now, come with me."

The strands vanished. As the hooded figure walked out of the room, Alex glanced up at the ceiling, then at the gun in its holster, before reluctantly following behind it.

The figure led him down a string of hallways and through a locked door. They walked past row after row of preservation tanks, some with amorphous blobs bobbing in them, and others held humanoid figures, with varying levels of abnormalities in their physiology. Some seemed almost human, save for unsettling pink blobs dripping from their skin, and others could only be recognized as human by the fact that five bumps, vaguely in the shape of limbs, protruded from the center mass.

Past this hall was a surveillance room. Officer Bayson gritted his teeth as he saw image after image surrounding a school, Sam's house, Deltoro's brawling ring, Mr. Ducall's office, and the Checkered Café.

"I've been watching," the figure said.

"You had Johnny killed."

"I did. At this point, I don't mind Sam learning the truth. It's almost time. However, I cannot risk Project Omega going public yet. There's an unknown enemy, and the less they know, the better."

"You mean that white-robed guy?"

"Exactly." He gestured at the screens. "Centuries of work went into a moment that, with luck, will be very near in the future. Very soon, my master's wish shall come true, and a mistake made long ago will be fixed."

"Wh – what do you mean?"

"Do as I ask, and you'll know soon enough." The figure snapped its fingers, and three pokemon walked into the room. His three. Hanzo, Shi, and Atlas, all there, and all unsettlingly different. Rage boiled in their eyes.

"I made some improvements to your team," the figure said. "They should prove more than capable, should more of those monks show up. Protect Sam for the duration of this project from that monk and any others that try to kill him, and I'll allow you to live."

"Screw that! You had Johnny killed, you bastard! I don't care what you offer me, I'm not doing a damn thing you say!"

"Is that so? Well, you won't have a choice."

As the figure raised its arm, purple energy gathered at the end of its bulbous purple fingertips. Officer Bayson drew his pistol and fired two shots. The bullets stopped inches from the figure's face and floated in the air.

"I let you keep that pistol so you would feel safer," the figure said. "So it would be more likely you would follow me of your own will." The figure lowered its hood, revealing a wrinkled purple face. "I have little power left in me, so the less I have to use, the better. However, I think you'll be worth it."

More purple light gathered in its fingers. Realizing what had happened to the Directors, he made the only decision he could make, the last one he would ever have no matter what he chose.

He raised the pistol to his own chin, then, before the figure could react, he pulled the trigger.

Chapter Thirty-Eight: The Officer's Will

Sam arrived at the Café just as the waitress was unlocking the door. With a cheerful hello, she leapt over the counter and warmed up a pot of tea. Sam waited, taking slow sips of the steaming hot green tea, and watched the checkered clock on the wall. He reached the bottom of his cup just as the minute hand crept over the six.

After paying his bill, Sam walked over to Mr. Ducall's office. The late summer morning, despite the sunlight that crept up over the buildings and pidoves chirping from windowsills, felt unusually cold. Gusts of wind rippled through the streets, flinging dust and papers in its wake, and the dew coating blades of grass along the sidewalks glistened like frost.

Sam shivered and rubbed his arms. "If he couldn't make it to the Café, why didn't he just arrange the meeting there in the first place?"

He ran into the wind, sprinting through empty streets to Mr. Ducall's office. The lawyer's front door was unlocked, and the door to his office was already open.

Peter looked up from a pile of papers in his hand. "Oh, you're here."

"Yeah. Where's Officer Bayson? Downstairs?"

Peter took a deep breath and stood. He held out a white envelope, addressed to Sam. "He left this for you, last night."

Sam felt a chill churn his stomach as he took the letter. He tore it open and eased out the folded notebook paper.

"Sam," it read, "Johnny's dead."

Sam stopped reading after those three words and dropped the paper. He glanced around the room, paranoid that hordes of police and Agents would materialize out of the walls. After a few panicked seconds, he scrambled for the paper on the floor and kept reading.

"And if I didn't make it to the Café, you can assume I'm dead too."

Again, he stopped reading. This time, he fell to the ground. On his knees before the lawyer's desk, he took a deep breath and kept reading.

"Johnny learned secrets about you that Sinex is willing to kill to keep secret. Sadly, I didn't know everything he learned, but I leave to you everything he told me.

Sinex is paying your mother a lot of money, and they're doing so by laundering it through her arts and crafts shop. Whatever the heck Project Omega is, she's involved."

Sam's hands tightened around the paper, and he slumped forward. Tears built up in his eyes. He wiped them away and kept reading.

"I don't know if telling you all of this is the right thing to do, but you deserve to know. I don't know why Sinex is interested in you, or why that man tried to kill you, but if you want to know, odds are your mother knows something. Whatever you do, just be careful."

The officer's frantic signature tore a hole at the bottom of the page. Sam pressed the tear flat, folded the note, and stuck it in his pocket. Then he stood up and turned towards the door.

"Wait!" Peter shouted. "What did it say?"

Sam started walking. "None of your business."

"Officer Bayson's dead, right?" When Sam passed through his doorway, he said, "You'll need my advice more than ever now. So turn around, sit down, and talk this over."

Sam walked past the receptionist. "It's none of your business."

Peter pressed a button on his desk, and a sharp click came from the doors. Sam tried to open them, but they were firmly locked.

"You shouldn't do this alone," he said. "I don't know what's going on, and I don't care. You're a client of mine. That's all that matters to me. So let me do my job and give you advice."

Sam turned back around. Mr. Ducall leaned over his desk, arm outstretched for the letter. Sam saw, in his grim, worried face, genuine concern and a desire to help. He wanted to reveal everything, Darkrai, Project Omega, all of it right then and there, but the voices howled in his head. Darkrai told him all the terrible things the people who killed Officer Bayson would do to the lawyer, then it told him everything that could happen to him if Mr. Ducall panicked and called the police.

His hand reached towards the letter, but then he drew it away.

"There's no helping me now," Sam said. "Goodbye."

Sam ran past the desk and into the back closet. He bolted down the steps and formed a hole, leading to his room, at the very bottom. Just as the lawyer passed through the secret entrance, Sam closed the hole behind him, vanishing without a trace.

Through the afternoon, Sam waited in the living room. He had the television on, at first, but a news report about the "earthquake" in the old industrial park made him turn it off with a shudder. He spent the remaining hours talking to Luna's pokeballs, drowning out the ceaseless clamor of the voices with reminiscence of the good old days, and encouragement that they almost have all the money.

"Just one match left," Sam said as the door's lock clicked open. Martha walked through the door, carrying two pots under her arm and a third slung across her back.

"Hello Sam! Did you get done with work early?"

Sam got up and closed the door, both locking it and pulling the chain across it. "We need to talk."

His mother looked at him cautiously. "What is it?"

 _Let me handle this,_ Darkrai said. _I can get everything she knows in a second. No need to make this hard._

 _I'm doing this. Leave me alone._

Sam breathed deeply, stared straight in her eyes, and said, "Project Omega."

A flash of alarm raced across her eyes, and one of the pots slipped an inch down her grasp but an instant later, it was replaced with the same sweet warmth of firelight that Sam saw when she walked in and saw him. She set all three pots on the counter and asked, "W – what are you talking about?"

"You know what it is."

"No, no I don't sweetie. Is it some sort of school program? Oh, or is it a scholarship opportunity? I know you can do it!"

"Two people I know died last night. Stop screwing around with me."

Martha's smile dropped to a frown. "Now, now listen Sam, stop this nonsense right now, you hear me? Go to your room and stop asking stupid questions."

With a flick of Sam's hands, all the light in the house vanished. The lights remained on, and sunlight streamed through the east-facing windows, but the light vanished the moment it entered the house.

"Those people told me you're being paid by the government, through your pottery shop."

"Hey, what did you do to the lights? Turn them back on this instant!"

A vase fell off of the counter, pushed by Sam's will, and landed with an ear-splitting crash. Martha shrieked, backed up, and cursed when a shard of clay sliced her Achilles tendon.

"Doctor Drake's also in on it. He took blood samples for whatever tests Sinex is doing. Pretty odd that the family doctor's part of a government project, don't you think?"

Another vase toppled over. Martha screamed and scrambled towards the sound of broken pottery, scooping up shards in her lacerated hands.

"Sam, stop knocking them over! That's valuable art!"

Sam's rage boiled over. Goaded on by the maelstrom of voices, he shouted, "Tell me everything or I'll level your pottery shop to the ground!" He pushed the last pot over and trampled it beneath his foot. "I'll tear it apart brick by brick and destroy every damn pot in that shop!"

"No, stop it!" Martha took long, ragged breaths and stood up. Clay crunched beneath hershoes. "I – I was just an art major. I wanted more than anything to open an arts and crafts shop here in the city, but I couldn't get the banks to agree to a loan. I worked retail and serving jobs, saving up pennies at a time. But it wasn't enough to achieve my dream. Not even close."

Sam flinched at the mention of a dream. He stomped on a larger shard, filling the room with echoes of broken art.

"Get to the point!" he shouted.

"I – I was willing to do anything. Desperate. So when I got the call, when they told me they'd make my dream come true, I agreed."

Sam allowed light to return to the room. Tears streamed down his mother's face, mixing with the drops of blood on the floor. When she wiped them away, she left behind a long red smear on her cheeks.

"They wanted to make a perfect human, and they chose me to bear you. They made me pregnant, and nine months later, I had you." She looked up at him and smiled. "And you are perfect! You're so smart and handsome, and I'm so proud to have you as a child. So stop this, please?"

Sam didn't hear her plea. He stopped listening at the words "perfect human," and all the implications it left. He wasn't smart because he worked hard, but because scientists in a lab mixed a cocktail of DNA to make him smart. Everything he is, was, and ever will be, not his own choice and earned through his own hard work, but handed – no, thrust upon him. Just like Brandon.

"Perfect?" Sam asked. Then he laughed, maniacally, his voice dripping with anger and despair. Martha shuddered as she looked up at her laughing son. "I'm not perfect, I'm a monster!"

As he said the word, without willing it, he changed. Dark blue scales pierced his skin on his arms and face, and his hands squished together into lone white talons. Long flaps extended out of his arms, and two bumpy protrusions grew out of the sides of his head. His teeth morphed into long, jagged points, and a thick muscular tail split his pants apart.

Through a reflection in a mirror, Sam saw what he had become, a garchomp. With a furious howl, he slammed his talon through the granite counter, smashing it to rubble. Martha crawled away to the living room, covered with stone dust and nicked all over by the spray of gravel.

Sam changed again, as he swung at the refrigerator. The long blue flaps turned into razor sharp leaves, and his arm sliced cleanly through the fridge's metal shell. The top half toppled over, and a mix of orange juice and milk spilled down the open fridge door.

He kicked at the stove, and his legs ended in bright burning feathers as they slammed through the oven door. The metal melted in a heap around his leg, and drops of iron splattered onto the tile floor as he withdrew his leg. He drove his fist through a microwave and saw black stubby fingers, with currents of electricity flickering in between them, jab through the glass. Sparks arced into the machine, and gouts of smoke billowed out of its circuitry. The LED spasmed, flickering random numbers before the display cracked and dimmed forevermore.

Sam went to break the mirror and was stopped by the monstrous visage that glared at him. His body had ceased to be a consistent whole, having bits of metal jutting out of foliage, fur from purple sludge, multicolored limbs jutting at odd angles from his chest and thighs, a lone green membranous wing flapping above his head and scratching the ceiling. All that told him the reflection was his were the eyes, human, unchanged, his own, but made all the more startling by the rage and tears in them.

He sagged to the floor, too worn out to continue his rampage. As he wept into two of his arms, the mutations disappeared one by one, sinking back into his body. Once the tears stopped, just before dawn, he stood up and went to his room, leaving his mother behind in the ruins of the kitchen.

Sam curled up in his bed and called out Luna. He sank his face into her fur, but she recoiled and hissed at him. When he didn't let go, Luna swiped at him, leaving long, shallow gouges in his cheek. Though those wounds knitted themselves back together almost instantly, the blow to his heart nearly ruined him.

"You're not you anymore," Sam moaned, "Are you?" He called Luna back to her pokeball and sank into his bed. "It doesn't matter anymore, does it?" he asked. No one answered him, not even Darkrai.

"Even if I get the money, even if I make it to Yvenna, how could I be happy? I've lost too much." Then he clenched his hands. "No. I have to do this. It's all I have left." He rubbed the tears into his pillow, got up, and walked over to the closet. The black feathered mask waited for him underneath an old pile of sheets. He put it on, strapped Luna's pokeball to his waist, and made a hole to the warehouse.

"I didn't go through all of this for nothing. I will beat him, no matter what it takes."

"Have you found him, Commissioner?" Mewtwo asked into a phone.

"No sir, no sign of him anywhere."

Mewtwo glanced at a screen depicting the Milones' kitchen, with rubble strewn everywhere and appliances smashed to pieces. "It can't be helped. It's time for the final phase of the project."

"Already, sir?"

"I hope so."

Mewtwo hung up and rubbed his wrinkled forehead. He held up one hand and stared at it as it feebly trembled. Then he dialed a second number.

"Deltoro, it's me. Start the final phase, and post extra guards. Let no one interfere."


	20. Chapters 39-40

Chapter Thirty-Nine: The Last Brawl

Sam shared one last cup of green tea with Mr. Deltoro in his office. A maid stood silent in a corner, sweat trickled past her eye. Mr. Deltoro raised the cup to his lips, smelled the tea's nutty, herbal aroma, and took a fast sip.

"You've grown since you first came into this office," he said. "Even a blind man can see that."

Sam left the tea where it was on the mob boss' table. "You better hold up your end of the bargain, or there'll be hell to pay."

"Two months ago, I would've laughed in your face. But never mind that. You still have one match left to win, and I chose an interesting opponent for you."

"I hope they're better than that last guy. Crowd's getting bored watching slaughterfests."

Mr. Deltoro set his cup into a groove on the table and leaned back in his chair. The scars over his eyes glittered in the chandelier's light.

"Rest assured, this will be a fight you'll remember for the rest of your life. Now get going."

Sam walked down towards the training room, but as he passed by the arena, the announcer called for his presence in the arena. Sam ran his fingers over the six pokeballs on his belt and stepped forward, disappointed he couldn't have a final word with his pokemon before the final fight.

"This will be a one on one match!" the announcer cried. "And it will be the very last the Black Crow shall ever have here!"

Roars of dismay mingled with boisterous cheers echoed across the multi-tiered seating areas. When the noise died down, the announcer resumed speaking.

"In celebration of the Black Crow's last fight, Mr. Deltoro has arranged a very special guest fighter to appear! Introducing, for his first ever brawl, the White Knight!"

As the white clad figure, who Sam recognized as the one watching him the past few brawls, walked into the ring, the announcer introduced him.

"This challenger is here for one reason and one reason alone, to stop the Black Crow's life of crime! That's right, ladies and gentlemen, this is a knight of justice, here to subdue the master thief and turn him over to the authorities!"

A loud chorus of boos hissed from the seats above. The White Knight gravely stood in the derision, paying no mind to anyone but the Black Crow. Sam felt as if the eyes behind that mask were melting a hole through his jacket.

"The rules are simple. One on one. Last one standing wins. It's a true gentleman's duel here tonight!"

The announcer took a deep breath and said, "So, ladies and gentleman, the Black Crow's final fight shall be for his freedom! Shall he triumph and live out the rest of his life a fugitive of the law, or shall he be conquered and brought to justice? Maybe he'll be locked up for the rest of his life. Maybe they'll execute him. But there's only one way to find out…"

The announcer leaned into his mike and gave the crowd a huge smile.

"Let the battle begin!"

The White Knight didn't throw out a pokeball. Instead, he spoke. "Do you think I'm some kind of idiot, 'Black Crow'?" he said with a derisive sneer. Even behind the mask, Sam recognized the voice, and his heart grew cold. "You had me fooled at first, I'll admit that. All those lies of being an undercover cop and doing it to pay for college, do you really think you could hide behind them forever? Pathetic."

"I'm doing what I have to," Sam answered. "You have no right to judge."

Brandon flung an arm out. "Bullshit! You didn't have to do any of this! You could've just taken the money I offered you and go to college just like you dreamed. But instead, you turned to brawling and stealing! Why? Why wouldn't you let me help you?"

Sam picked up Luna's pokeball and tossed it in his hand. "Because I want to be better than you."

"That's it? How could you be so pathetic?"

"Ever since we were little, I always envied you. You had everything: money, privilege, two parents, a nice house, a lab, rare pokemon. You were always guaranteed to be the best, but I decided not to stand for it. I'm going to be the best, and I'm going to do it without your help or not at all."

Brandon shook his head. "That's not the friend I used to know. So, I'm going to get him back by making you tell the truth."

"The truth?" Sam chuckled behind his mask. "The truth killed two people I liked. No, I'll never tell anyone."

Brandon snatched his pokeball from a pocket and threw it out. Marianne gracefully rose in the arena and poised herself for a fight.

"What the hell have you done?"

Sam threw his own pokeball forward. Luna sprang into the arena, crouched, and bared her fangs at the gardevoir.

"For your own sake, I'll never tell."

"I'm going to make you tell me." Sam's eyes widened as Brandon held up his arm. The ring on his finger glittered in the harsh arena light. Brandon touched the ring and said, "I call upon the power stored in this stone. Give me the strength to save my friend!"

Brilliant blue light, sprouting from the stones on the ring and Marianne's pendant, surrounded them both. Thin blue strands connected the two masses of light, and then all the light flowed into Marianne. Her skirt bloomed outward, and the red horn on her chest split in two. White gauntlets shimmered over her arms.

"So, that's how far you're willing to go. Fine then. Dark pulse!"

A jet black blast thundered from Luna's mouth and struck the space in front of Marianne. A flickering pink barrier absorbed the blast.

"Miracle eye, then psychic!"

Marianne's eyes glowed with an intense purple light, and then her hands took on the same nebulous hue as her power reached for Luna. Luna darted aside and answered with another dark pulse, but Marianne teleported away, appearing directly behind Luna.

"Magical leaf!"

A storm of leaves flew out from Marianne's hands. At Sam's command, Luna flung a volley of glittering stars into the air, striking the leaves with showers of sparks. However, the storm of leaves was too thick for Luna to block, and she took several shallow gashes on her legs.

"Lu - Lucky, use Shadow Ball!"

Luna flicked her ears and conjured a black sphere. It sailed through the air, and Marianne knocked it aside with one hand.

"Rush in and tackle!" Luna raced forward, but Marianne vanished and lacerated Luna with another round of leaves. Luna swiped at her, but she vanished again, reappearing at the edge of the arena near Brandon.

"Your umbreon has suffered long enough," Brandon said. "It's time to end this."

"I couldn't agree more. Dark pulse!"

"Moonblast!"

The dark energy was swallowed up by a brilliant white beam. The light caught Luna square in the chest and hurled her back against the kinetic barrier. The barrier rippled and crackled as the light pounded all the breath out of Luna. After half a minute, the light dimmed, and Luna sagged to the floor, unable to move.

A countdown began. Sam sagged to his knees as the crowd chanted with the decreasing numbers. Anger boiled inside of him, and as he shook with rage, tears streamed down his face.

 _There's still a way to win,_ Darkrai told him.

The tears stopped. Sam breathed in and dried his face on his sleeve. _Tell me._

 _Let me have control, and I'll take care of everything._

Sam had five seconds to choose. He only needed one. Pounding his fists on the concrete, he pushed himself onto his feet and smiled at Brandon.

 _Do it._

Sam felt as though he was covered in buckets of Vaseline and shoved down a water slide. The slippery, sliding sensation continued until he landed in the sea of clamoring voices. Struggling to stay afloat, he watched from a distance as Darkrai made his own limbs move and made his own voice speak.

"Stand," Darkrai commanded. Power radiated from him like a black sun. Luna bolted up to her feet and roared at Marianne. The crowd cheered, and Brandon backed up a pace.

"Don't let her recover," Brandon shouted, "Another moonblast! Harder this time!"

Darkrai snapped Sam's fingers. As Marainne fired off another moonblast, Luna answered with a dark pulse that seemed to eat the light in the whole room. The dark pulse collided with the moonblast in the center of the arena. Gouts of fire and showers of sparks rained down on the concrete. The darkness pushed the light back a few feet, and then jets of it streamed over Marianne's attack. The stream of light dwindled to a sphere surrounding Marianne as Luna's dark pulse pushed forward. Light feebly glowed in the heart of the stream of darkness, flickering like a candle. As the seconds passed, the light dwindled, until it vanished completely. Marianne hit the kinetic barrier with a thunderous boom, and the darkness ceased.

Marianne fell to the floor, limp and unconscious. With a weak flicker, her form glowed. The skirt hugged her legs, the gauntlets vanished, and the horn on her chest fused back together.

The countdown began. Brandon fell to his knees and cried Marianne's name. She twitched, opened her eyes, and rose unsteadily on her feet. Holding out her hands, she conjured a swirling black mass. Air rushed into the black hole, and light bent in disturbing angles as it was drawn astray by the gravity building in the arena.

"No, stop!" Brandon cried. "Not like this!"

His words were swallowed up by the black hole. It grew larger, sucking in light around Marianne and shrouding the in shadow. But out of the all-consuming darkness glowed two yellow eyes. With a swipe of her paw, Luna knocked Marianne's head into the concrete. Light and wind rushed out of the black hole, filling the arena with a blinding flash and hurricane-force winds.

This time, Marianne did not get up. Brandon called her back and sobbed into his jacket sleeve. Sam cheered and tried to rise back up, to take control of his body once more, but every time he climbed, he slipped back down. He shouted up, but his voice was lost in the tumult around him. His mind grew cold as he realized he was trapped in his own body.

"Darkrai's going to get me out, right?"

Darkrai, meanwhile, was marveling at Sam's hand and laughing, softly at first, but then loudly enough to reach the elevator. Thunderous applause rained down on him, and the sharp claps echoed dimly down to Sam's spot adrift in the sea of souls.

Sam's phone rang. Darkrai stared at the unknown number, which gave no indication of the caller, as it walked into the elevator. The moment the doors closed, it answered.

"Am I speaking to Sam, or Darkrai?" the caller asked.

Darkrai grinned and said its name.

"That was quite an excellent match, although it was a bit quick."

Darkrai chuckled. "Just get to the point."

"Very well. I imagine you have questions about Project Omega. If you want them answered, get in."

Darkrai's gaze lifted to a long black car parked directly outside the casino. A Sinex agent held the door open for him. Darkrai hung up and entered the vehicle.

As his body was taken to Sinex Headquarters, Sam couldn't run, or hug himself, or even cry. He could only watch as Darkrai took control.

Chapter 40: Alpha and Omega

An Agent escorted Darkrai to the exact same seat Officer Bayson had sat in earlier that morning. The four Directors waited, pulled into a bow by the purple strings dangling from their limbs up to the ceiling.

"Welcome, Darkrai," the Alpha Director said. His long, gray hair flopped over his eyes. "It's an honor to meet you."

"I must say," said the Beta Director as he clumsily straightened his white lab coat, "We weren't expecting to recreate you."

The Gamma Director leaned his head on his hand, which pushed his cheek further up his face. "All we sought was an imitation, not the real deal.

"Still, we consider this a success. Thank you."

Darkrai chuckled. "Cute comedy act you have here. Now where's your master?"

Mewtwo opened the door on the far side of the room. It had the hood of its ragged brown cloak pulled back.

"Right here." It took a seat at the head of the table. With a wave of its hand, the strings vanished, and the four Directors slumped over the table.

"Why did you bring me back?"

Mewtwo set a sphere on the table. It was the color of polished silver, and it had charred grooves running over its surface. "This is a prototype of the pokeballs. Only one force can open it, yours."

Darkrai drummed Sam's fingers on the table. "Why should I help you?"

A strong gust of wind blew through the open doors, making Mewtwo's cloak flap and flutter like bat's wings. "Doesn't it get noisy, having all those voices in your head?"

Darkrai tensed up and gripped the table hard enough to reduce the wood between his fingers to splinters. A few drops of blood fell onto the chair before the wounds knitted themselves up. "How the hell do you know?"

"I studied the Sapphire Heart for some time, seeing it had a very similar energy to the sample from the Delta Incident. Sadly, it couldn't open the Alpha Ball, but I did learn quite a bit about you."

Mewtwo stood up and gestured towards the open door. "Come along. I'll explain along the way."

As they walked along, Mewtwo explained its hypothesis about the dual nature of Darkrai's power. Aura and darkness, bound together, separated upon Darkrai's destruction. The aura inhabited organic crystals and became compressed into the Sapphire Heart, while the darkness, lacking a proper vessel was scattered across the world.

They passed into the chamber of preserved test subjects. Darkrai gazed curiously at the blobs floating in fluorescent fluid.

"That's why I had to make a vessel." Mewtwo told the progression of its efforts, from outright cloning to using its genetic material to fertilize pre-existing eggs.

"I had a breakthrough eighty years ago," Mewtwo said, gesturing at a humanoid figure towards the end of the room. "By fertilizing the eggs in utero, the clones experienced greater lifespans. The last sample is still alive today. See for yourself."

At those words, a man stepped out from behind a pillar. He wore a doctor's coat and a large lead pocketwatch. Sam recognized the pointy black hair and thick glasses.

"Pleasure to meet you again," Doctor Drake said, bowing. "Thank you for accomplishing what I could not."

Mewtwo pulled aside Drake's coat, revealing splotchy, bubbling purple patches on his chest. "He proved insufficient to contain your power, but it was a major step forward. And now, I've finally done it."

"Great. Now what?"

"Well, the original plan was to knock you out and strap you to the operating chair, but I have a better idea. You open the Alpha Ball, and I'll get rid of those voices."

Darkrai went wide-eyed at that statement. "You can really do that?"

"I studied the Sapphire Heart for a whole century, and I've studied you even longer. Separating the two will be difficult, but possible."

"Then you have a deal. Let's go."

Mewtwo waved a hand, and a set of plain metal doors, all the way at the end of the hall, opened up. They walked past countless monitors, depicting the house, the Checkered Café, and anywhere else Sam has ever frequented.

One of Sam's shoes stuck on the floor. Darkrai looked down and saw a faint red smear on the floor.

"Oh, that," Mewtwo said. "I didn't have time to properly clean that up. You might be interested to know that's where Officer Bayson shot himself."

"Huh. So that's what happened to him."

Galled on by the red smear, all that remained of his friend, Sam tried once again to escape. He made it slightly higher than last time, but his efforts yet again proved vain. He slid back down and sank deeper into the voices.

 _He's really going to get rid of me,_ Sam thought in despair. _What have I done?_

"Right this way. I have everything prepared."

Through a final metal door, Darkrai, Mewtwo, and Doctor Drake walked into a round chamber. On one half, intricate tangles of metal wires and pneumatic machinery surrounded a thin metal pedestal. A huge laser hung from the ceiling, pointed directly at the pedestal. Reams of cables wound their way from its sides to the other half of the room.

The other half was bare, save for a single metal chair. Thick metal clasps sprouted from every inch of its surface. Along the middle of the room, a string of LED lights illuminated the room in an even white light.

Mewtwo gestured at the chair. "Have a seat. This won't take long."

"You better know what you're doing."

Darkrai sat in the chair. As Mewtwo calibrated the laser, Doctor Drake fastened the clamps and tested each one.

"They're made of Delta alloy," the doctor explained, "So there isn't any risk of machine failure. It won't hold forever, so please don't try to struggle."

The room filled with mechanical whirring noises and a faint buzzing static. Lights flickered to life, and a harsh ozone smell flooded the room.

"Just get on with it," Darkrai said, tugging at the clamps. "These restraints ache."

"All set!" Mewtwo called. "I'm turning it on!"

Two mechanical arms unfolded themselves from the ceiling. Each arm ended in three long metallic points.

Darkrai leered at the arms. "I recognize those."

"Yes, they're design was borrowed from the Delta project. But don't worry, I've made some improvements."

Tiny crystalline shards were embedded in the metal. They glittered in the strong LED light. As the needles pierced the skin between each finger, they darkened, becoming pitch black voids within the metal.

Sam felt a sucking sensation. At first, he feared he was already being drawn out of his own body like a toxin, but then he realized it was the blood being drawn. Thick black blood seeped from the puncture wounds and traveled up the cables. Gallons of dark fluid sloshed around the inside of the laser. It looked like some monstrous mosquito, having drank its fill.

Mewtwo placed the Alpha Ball on the pedestal. Then he placed a crab-like machine on top of it. In the center of its eight pointed legs rested a thin crystal lens.

"Let's begin."

With the press of a button, a jet black beam erupted from the laser tip. It pierced the lens on the mechanical crab and was focused to a microscopic point. The crab rotated the Alpha Ball, tracing a route along its grooves. The ball smoked and sparked, and it glowed red hot. Drops of metal dripped down the pedestal like candle wax.

At first, Sam's arms tingled. Then it felt as though red-hot needles were jabbed into every speck of skin up to the shoulders. Then the pain became a raging inferno burning inside his lungs. Darkrai screamed, but it kept the hands braced against the needles.

"You better keep your word!" Darkrai roared over the pain.

Mewtwo didn't answer. It was on its knees, holding back tears as it watch six hundred years of its life bear fruit in this single moment. Smoke danced among the cables, and sparks glittered like raindrops, forming blackened rainbows in the ceiling.

With a tiny metallic ding, the laser stopped. The crab, now a smoking, melted ruin, tumbled onto the floor at Mewtwo's knees. It picked the crab up and gingerly touched its eerie, Dali-esque legs.

"It's finally done, Doctor Taka. Rest in peace." Then it stood and turned towards Darkrai. "I'm sorry I deceived you, Darkrai, but I feared you wouldn't agree otherwise."

Darkrai pulled against the restraints, pouring its power into the metal. Though they bent, and a few near his hands snapped, it remained bound to the chair. "You son of a bitch! When I get out of this chair, you're dead!"

"It had to be done." Mewtwo pressed the button on the Alpha Ball. "There's one person who was very important to my master, one that has been locked away for these last six hundred years. And now, he's finally free."

A tremendous crack echoed from the Alpha Ball. Light exploded from the seams, and the top half rocketed off into the ceiling, leaving a small dent. A gout of red light shot out from the ball, forming a shape in the air. It flickered a few times, and then it coalesced into a dark-furred form. It dropped to the floor, coughed up a mouthful of blood, and stood on shaking legs.

"Where… where am I?" the figure from the Alpha Ball asked. It looked at its arms. On the left, a metal armlet was fused to its arm. It tried prying the metal free, but it wouldn't budge.

"What happened?" It turned towards Mewtwo. "And who are you?"

"Welcome back, Arkus."

Darkrai tensed up, and redoubled its efforts to escape. "You!" it roared. "Die!"

Arkus turned towards Sam's body. Sam recognized the face from Darkrai's dreams, fox-like, pale green eyes, covered in black fur, with a white ring around the right eye. The voices around him boiled over, chanting in unison for the zoroark's blood.

Sam's body rippled, and black fog crept out of his skin. Bit by bit, his body was swallowed up, replaced with Darkrai's form. A white plume replaced his hair, a jagged red collar surrounded his neck, and glowing blue eyes leered at Arkus.

The zoroark's eyes widened when it beheld the transformation. He grabbed Mewtwo by the collar of its robe and shook him.

"What the hell have you done!"

"Please let me go, I will deal with this situation." Mewtwo rushed over to the laser and pulled a few levers. Inch by inch, it swiveled up and pointed itself at Darkrai.

"I wasn't expecting to make Darkrai itself, but I was ready for the possibility. This should slow it down for a while."

The laser glowed. Darkrai pushed against the chair, and the restraints tore off and flew across the room. It tried to flee, but the laser blast caught it directly in the chest. It crashed through wall after metal wall, and shot out into the night sky above the city of Palsitore.

It landed in the north-west industrial park, just north of the remnants of the battle with the monk. Darkrai heaved itself out of the rubble and stared up at the crater it had made. A lone figure stared down at him. Though it wore a white cloak, Darkrai's keen eyes could see the canine face with black and blue fur hiding in the hood's shadow.

"Hello," she said. "I had a feeling you would be dropping by soon."

She slid down the crater, lifted her hood, and offered a paw.

"Want to take Arkus down together? I want to see him dead, no matter what it takes."

Darkrai stared into her chilling red eyes, smiled, and took her paw.


	21. Chapters 41-42

Chapter Forty-One: Break Free

Sam couldn't believe the plan Darkrai and the stranger came up with together. He didn't want to believe. Even as Darkrai floated through the town, ripping buildings in half with its long, dark arms and throwing chunks of masonry at fleeing civilians, Sam couldn't process the death and destruction, the waves of blood rushing through the street gutters, piles of corpses charred to fine ash with ravenous black flames. Even as thousands cried in terror, only for their voices to be snuffed out like candles before a flood, Sam couldn't hear them. Even as bodies piled up in alleyways like cold cuts at a deli, stacked up on light posts like fiendish shish kebabs, and were mashed into fleshy paste by the earth's gnashing teeth, Sam couldn't stomach the reality before him. Even as the city's police force formed a firing squad behind Darkrai, accompanied by a tank and several mortars, and even as that tank was tossed through their ranks like a stone through a pile of leaves, Sam sat huddled in a sea of jubilant, furious voices, unwilling to accept that his body, now assuming a monstrous visage, was rampaging through the city, all to lure someone out.

A familiar face, a radiant speck amidst the ashes and ruin, snapped Sam out of his stupor. Wearing his white-robed costume, sans the mask, stood Brandon, perched atop a building corner. His cloak billowed wildly in the fickle winds. Below him stood Marianne, already in her Mega state, with a dazzling charge built between her arms. At his command, Marianne unleashed a pale, sparkling barrage that caught Darkrai in the right arm. Sam felt the stinging, burning pain and cheered at it.

"Hello again," Darkrai said in a cheerful, sadistic voice. "Fancy seeing you out here."

"I won't let you destroy any more of this city," Brandon said, "Not while I can do something about it."

"But you can't. You already lost to me once, remember?"

Brandon looked puzzled by this, but he didn't hesitate to launch a second attack. This time, Darkrai sidestepped the beam and answered with a shower of black spheres. Marianne teleported away from the barrage, attacking again from a tall, crumbling building. Darkrai's retaliation smote the building into a deep crater, and steel beams rained from the sky. As one beam threatened to crush Brandon, Marianne raced towards him and shoved the beam away. She blocked Darkai's next attack, and the glowing pink barrier held against the black inferno that engulfed her at all sides.

At first, Sam felt immeasurably cheered by how Marianne seemed to get the most hits in, but after a moment, he realized that Darkrai was toying with her, drawing out the fight until she could fight no more. Judging by how slowly her attacks charged, taking whole seconds to prepare, the fight would soon end.

Brandon noticed this as well. With a wave of his hand, he shouted, "There's no choice anymore! Do it!"

Marianne spread out her arms. In front of her horn, a tiny black mass swelled to life and ate everything around it. Stones and fire hurtled into the darkness, and bit by bit, Darkrai was pulled in, drifting away like dust. Oddly enough, Sam felt no pain from the experience.

"It's over, you monster," Brandon shouted over the roar of the black hole, his words nearly lost to the void. "Nothing can escape this, not even light."

"Light cannot," Darkrai said, his words unaffected by the vacuum surrounding it, "But darkness can."

At that last word, a dark spear jutted out of the black hole, piercing Marianne through the chest. The black hole vanished. Blood pooled on the rocks around her as she toppled over. She strained towards Darkrai, gathering energy for one last attack, but the light faded from her fingers, and her eyes closed.

Brandon ran over to Marianne's limp body. He sprayed medicine over her wounds, but it had no effect. As he sobbed over her, calling her name, cradling her slender head in his arms, Darkrai stretched its hand towards Brandon and gathered a sphere of burning darkness. Sam, driven by grief and self-hatred that burned his gut like black fire, clawed at the slippery confines around him, climbing upward, reaching for control. The tiny flicker of light overhead remained out of his reach, but he could sense a space within the void that led to the right arm. Scrabbling the last few inches into that space, Sam reached inside and pulled with all his might.

Darkrai's arm moved aside, imperceptibly at first, but then, inch by inch, its arm pointed at a right angle away from Brandon, down an empty alley. Darkrai strained and pulled, but the arm wouldn't move. With a furious cry that sounded like stones cracking under tremendous pressure, Darkrai sank the talons of his left hand into his right arm. The bolt of darkness flew from its hand, thundering down the alley and splitting the two buildings apart.

The light inside of Darkrai dropped closer to Sam, tantalizingly within reach. Sam leapt for it, felt his fingers find purchase on the tiny round opening, and pulled himself upward. At that moment, Darkrai let out a scream, higher pitched and sounding akin to a thousand keen blades screeching against each other. An arm reached out of its left eye, clad in a black glove and a black sleeve. A head followed, covered by a black feathered mask with a polished beak. Then a torso, a left arm, and two legs tumbled out onto the pavement, head-first.

Brandon stared in bewilderment at the figure sprawled out before him. "Sam?" he asked in wonder. "Is that you?"

Sam reached up, tore the mask from his face, and tossed it aside. He took long deep breaths, savoring the sensation of air in his lungs despite the reek of ash and blood that filled his mouth. After a minute, he stood up on fumbling legs, steadying himself against a crooked light post.

Darkrai, meanwhile, had rubbed away the last of the tears in its eyes and glared at Sam.

"That was as bad as getting a bullet in the eye," it growled. Then its gaze softened. "Still, at least we're separated, just like I promised. Remember that deal? I kept my end, now help me and keep yours."

Sam coughed on the ashes and gestured at the crumbling ruins of Palsitore City. "Help you do this?"

Darkrai winced. "There's no other way. If I don't force him out now, I'll never get my chance. You have no idea how strong he normally is."

"I can't agree to this."

Darkrai closed its eyes and tapped on a bent, smoldering steel girder. Then it said, "What about your dream? I could help you get that, still. You'd do anything for that, right?"

Sam shook his head. "I'll do it without your help, like I should have." Then he threw all six of his pokeballs forward. Luna, Cloud, Jaeger, Aconite, Morel, and Coalfoot all faced Darkrai. "Now, attack it!"

None of his pokemon moved. Darkrai solemnly shook its head. "I don't want to kill you," it said. "You're just like me, made for someone else's goal, stuffed full of those voices until you're driven mad." Then it pointed towards Sam, and all six of Sam's pokemon turned. "But, I suppose death would be a mercy at this point. Make it quick and painless."

At those last words, Aconite walked up to him. Its right arm glowed purple. Sam tried to conjure a portal in front of him, but nothing happened. The dark power, once trapped within him, was gone. He felt strangely hollow, but at the same time, much lighter, as if each cell of his body had a tiny burden taken off of its back.

Aconite, however, gave him no time to appreciate this new sensation. The toxicroak slammed its glowing arm into Sam's chest with enough force to send him hurtling into a concrete building. A shockwave rippled across the street in his wake, kicking up a veil of ashes that wafted over the town like a pall.

Darkrai turned back towards Brandon. With a snapped of its wispy fingers, Luna walked over and braced her fangs at him. "Now, where was I?"

Before Darkrai could give an order, however, the sound of shifting stone caught its attention. Out of the ruins of the building Sam crashed into, an amorphous figure limped. It had Sam's face, and tatters of his jacket clung to his chest, but his legs, arms, and back were reduced to blobs of pink goo. Drops of it fell in oozing drops to the sidewalk, leaving a trail of jiggling puddles.

As he walked, the pink masses stiffened and reformed into new flesh. That flesh wasn't human. Thick, stumpy brown limbs grew from the amputated stumps. The legs ended in tiny flat feet, and the arms formed massive metal claws, each resembling a spade shovel made of jagged knives. A steel point jutting from the back of Sam's head forced him into a hunched position. His arms dragged along the ground, digging long furrows in the wreckage.

Darkrai ordered Aconite to attack, and the amphibian sprinted forward, arms braced for a powerful punch. As she drew near, Sam leapt into the air, the inhuman muscles in his legs carrying him ten feet off the ground in a graceful arc. He landed arms-first, the claws pressed together into a drill point, and he dove through the street, leaving a clean, circular hole. Chunks of concrete and metal piping flowed through his metal hands like water as he dug deeper and deeper into the city's belly.

Once again, Sam felt a sense of disembodiment, but this time, he felt in control. His body moved on autopilot, leaving his mind free to process what just happened, not that he wanted to think about his own pokemon attacking him or the fact his body, after being slammed into a building, turned into magic jelly.

The aggressiveness of his pokemon, to Sam's sorrow, was easy enough to understand. They were tainted with Darkrai's power, and he had done that himself. The transformation, however, eluded his understanding. It wasn't Darkrai's power, so it had to be a property of his own body.

He had a lot of questions for Mewtwo, but first, Darkrai had to pay.

His body tilted upward, plowing through rock until he broke through the surface, right behind Aconite. He whirled, so fast he turned into a gray and brown blur, and sliced through Aconite's back. The deep slashes healed up, but Aconite's legs buckled and she fell face-first. She flailed her arms, struggling to push herself over, but her legs wouldn't move.

Armed with the knowledge that they couldn't heal spinal injuries, Sam turned towards the rest of his pokemon and raised his claws.

Darkrai gave Sam a puzzled look. "I thought all my power was gone from you."

Sam shrugged. One set of claws brushed against a stop sign, slicing it off at the base. It fell to the ground with a sharp clang. "I'm glad I have it. Now I'll beat you and your five with no problem."

"Five?" Darkrai chuckled. "I have a lot more than five." Darkrai snapped his fingers, far louder this time, enough to make Sam clap his hands over his ears. Out of the smoke and darkness, dozens of eyes stared, glaring at Sam. At that moment, he wished that this was all just a dream, that those eyes were here to help him, or he'd get some other help, or that he would sprout wings and fly away, but most prominently in his mind at the moment, he wished that he hadn't spoken so rashly.

Chapter Forty-Two: Haphazard

At that moment, with hundreds of feral, darkness-infused monsters swarming over him, clawing at his arms and gnawing at his legs, Sam really wished he wasn't hobbling along on the short, squat legs of an excadrill, made all the worse for running by patches of incongruous flesh cropping up everywhere he got slashed and bitten. After a minute, his legs less resembled a part of one particular pokemon and looked more like misshapen lumps that could barely bend.

Using the last of his claws, Sam slashed clean through his waist, and wriggled away from the pursuing crowd while the limbs regrew. He expected a staggering jolt of pain to surge up his severed waist, but more unsettling was the complete lack of pain and blood from the wound. Even the pink drops that seeped out behind him less resembled blood than dollops of strawberry saltwater taffy.

His luck was poor – he wound up with the thin, spindly green legs of a floette, and they wobbled uselessly in the air as Sam dug down with his one good arm, closing himself off from the surface. He could hear the pokemon above scrambling after him, smashing concrete and scooping the rubble aside.

In the sheer darkness below the city streets, Sam could hardly see what legs he got each time he tried his luck, but by waving them around, he could tell if they would serve. The next set were far too large and stumpy, followed by a set that wasn't a pair of legs at all, but the tail end of a whiscash. The short, squat feet of a raichu followed, then a pair of clawed bird's feet.

On his last try, with the sounds of digging echoing through his tiny hole in the earth, Sam finally found a pair that would work. His long, powerful legs didn't have knees. Instead, their lengths, from his ankles up to his thighs, were made of a rubbery white material with numerous flexible bulges like bungee cord.

Sam crushed his legs flat like two springs, and when the pokemon broke into his hole, he took a tremendous leap, soaring through all the pokemon and flying thirty feet into the air. In his wake, a dozen pokemon, including a mightyena, flareon, and a majestic ninetales, flew up and crashed to the concrete below.

As he started to fall, pokemon gathered in a ring beneath him. First, he severed his right arm, which was an amorphous fleshy mass flapping at his side. Then he hoisted his right leg above him, and brought it down in a powerful kick. The leg stretched a dozen feet and fell square on the back of a blastoise. Sam scrunched up his leg, landed on the back of the blastoise's neck, and kicked off with all the strength in his compressed left leg. He felt the spine snapping beneath his toes as he leapt to the top of a ruined building, whose flat roof remained relatively level and intact despite all its other floors being smashed to pieces beneath it.

Sam steadied himself on the wobbling ruin and glanced at his arm to see why it was taking so long to regrow. It had, in fact, regrown, into a tiny white stump, no larger than his thumb had been. Sam flicked it off with a claw and waited for something better. The spectral arm of a haunter, which seeped from his wound like a noxious gas, seemed promising enough, but the shadow ball he flung from his ghostly fingers didn't even slow the rush of pokemon charging the building.

He sliced at the arm, but his claws couldn't cut through the ephemeral flesh. Stymied for a moment, he then shifted his slice further up took off half his shoulder. He was well rewarded for the extra loss. In place of the thin, ghostly arm grew a giant yellow cannon. Flames smoldered inside, flickering out of the edges like hungry snakes. Before he could wonder how to make the new arm work, he felt pressure building up where the elbow would be, right around the black ring bracing the arm. Then, with a tremendous boom, followed by a high-pitched whoosh, a tremendous fireball shot out of his arm and crashed into the pokemons' front line.

Charred bodies flew into the air, and those behind the blast stumbled into a smoking crater in the street, left by the blast. Taking advantage of the confusion, Sam leapt down and cut the spines of four pokemon, half-charred by the fire but rapidly healing until Sam ended them.

For half an hour, Sam repeated this tactic, battering large groups with a fireball and darting in to paralyze a couple. However, as time wore on, the packs spread themselves out and charged from all sides. They kept Sam leaping from top to top of piling rubble, and every so often, he would trigger a small avalanche and tumble down a jagged slope. It took all his concentration to keep from scratching his arms and legs, and he took extra care to keep his claws intact. As a result, his aim grew wild. Fireballs shot out of his cannon at random, and he didn't have time to slay any stunned by the blasts.

Sam dashed away from the destruction, towards a group of stable buildings. However, when he leapt to one rooftop, a splash of water, followed by a crackling white beam, shot past him. The water soaked the flat roof, and the beam froze it, turning the rooftop into a slippery ice rink. Sam's flat feet slid across the ice, and he tumbled down into the alleyway between two huge buildings. Even with his legs, he couldn't leap twelve stories.

As he sprinted towards one end, a swampert blocked his path. A fierce jet of water made Sam leap up, back, and to the side. He darted around the corner and found the path blocked, this time by a golem. It hurled a concrete slab at him, and he kicked it to pieces. He charged forward, but behind the golem stood a weavile – Jaeger – and an abomasnow. Shards of ice, like a storm of daggers, shot through the alley. Sam fired a shot from his arm, melting most of the ice, but a few shards slipped past, and one sliced through the middle of his leg. The flesh that grew there was rigid and gray, like steel. While he could still squeeze the muscles, the metallic kneecap kept the leg from bending properly. He limped down the alley, sidestepping another blast of water, and found the other ends blocked as well.

Sam ducked back into the alley with the swampert and bounded off of the walls, climbing steadily higher with each bound. However, ice coated the tops of every building, so slick a hockey puck could slide across it until the end of time. As jets of water blasted around him, tearing chunks from the masonry but leaving the ice untouched, Sam knew he had no way out.

But then, a wild idea struck him. He took his right arm, which now had only one claw left, and sliced through his back, carving off his lumpy shoulder blades. In answer to his prayers, huge red wings, in the shape of axe blades, sprouted from his back. With a mighty beat of his wings, Sam shot past the icy rooftop, so fast that the weavile standing sentinel on a radio antenna couldn't react before Sam darted through a cloud.

Amidst the frigid, damp air, Sam took a deep breath and ventured deeper into the cloud cover. Projectiles and beams pierced the clouds, but none came near him. He was left in relative peace for a minute, gliding through the crowds and seeking a place where the battle sounded faintest. However, just as he was about to dive out of the clouds, a pokemon latched onto his back and bit off his right wing.

Sam twisted around and sliced the head off of a pidgeot, realizing as the crest feathers tumbled past him that it was Cloud. Then he shouted, reaching towards the sky, as he fell towards the earth. His one good wing fluttered awkwardly, battering against the back of his head, and the shifting winds spun him until he couldn't tell which direction he was falling.

Closing his eyes, he focused everything on growing back on a wing, willing his flesh to save him. In answer, the golden-brown plumage of a pidgeot sprouted from his right shoulder blade, followed by a magnificent wing. Though the wings were shaped differently and offered different amounts of lift and drag, Sam managed to slow and angle his descent towards a tall building. He rolled to a stop, breaking the pidgeot wing, and came up just in time to see a mienshao leaping towards him, legs poised for a brutal kick. Sam blocked it with his left arm and felt the hollow cannon cave in. Sparks leapt from it as a shower of yellow shards, turning into drops of pink goo, fell across the rooftop.

Then, while Sam's attention was on the mienshao, a skarmory came from behind and severed his right arm. Sam stared in horror as the claw, his only means of reshuffling his appearance, plummeted to the ground below.

A kick from the mienshao slammed into his chest, knocking him off of the building. But before the skarmory could slice his other wing off, Sam pushed back and flew through the concrete. He landed in an abandoned office building, its gray cubicle walls knocked over and the fluorescent lights flickering wildly with failing emergency power.

Now, both wings lay crumpled and dripping pink goo behind him, along with both his arms. "Come on, I need a sword," Sam told the dripping flesh. A ripple passed through his right arm, and the tip of a sword formed at the edge of the jelly-like stump. Inch by inch, a long steel scimitar jutted out of the mass, followed by an ornate hilt with an ouroboros carved into the gold. The hilt was about a foot wide, the ouroboros encircling it as wide as his hand, and the eye of the ouroboros was not made of gold, nor of any jewel, but an actual eye, pale purple in color, and staring intently at him. All of a sudden, another field of view overlapped his own, from that eye's perspective. He would've dropped the sword, had it not been fused to his body, as he beheld his gruesome visage.

At first glance, it resembled a muk, but no cesspool of sewage and filth looked more horrendous than his mismatched patchwork quilt of flesh, bumpy and ridged wherever different sections met. One bulbous insect eye glowered out of a deep wrinkled hole, and a horse's eye stared wildly from the tip of his crooked jawline. Teeth of all shapes and sizes jutted from his misshapen gums. Patches of fur in all colors and textures sprouted all over his face, including a fiery red patch growing out of a hole on the left side of his head, about where an ear would be.

By the time he snapped out of his daze, the sword had grown fully out of his body, along with a blue, muscular humanoid arm. Thick fingers were fused to the hilt, and the sword's long purple tassel wound itself up to his shoulder. On his left, a similar arm bore a kite shield with an ornate, geometric design of purple circles and gold bars.

Emboldened, he sliced off his legs with the sword and imagined the hitmonlee legs he had a moment ago. The stumps gurgled, then grew into the desired shape. Sam felt new strength gathering in his chest, burning within him like a bed of coals.

The building shuddered, and a fine spray of rock flew through the office. The skarmory flew in, its wings cutting through concrete. Sam met the wings with his shield, knocking the bird to the ground, and he shoved the point of his sword through its neck. Oddly enough, he could taste its blood, as though the sword were a long tongue, and its flavor was as intoxicating and rich as red wine.

Caught up in the sensations of his new body, Sam didn't snap out of his power-induced frenzy until there was nothing left to slice. Piles of pokemon corpses towered around him, replacing the buildings, which had been smashed to dust and stray pebbles. At the top of one, he saw the body of Luna, sans head and both its front legs, impaled upon the spiky shell of a chestnaught.

Sam stood in a pool of blood, and his arm was stained red all the way up to his shoulder. His legs had been gnawed and slashed into gelatinous lumps, and a quick glance at his face, from the sword's eye, nearly made him vomit.

As Sam turned to leave, Darkrai materialized above the tallest pile, staring down at him.

"Are you still unwilling to work with me? I really don't have anything against you."

Sam gathered sparks of energy in his sword and flung a shimmering bolt of green sparks at Darkrai. It swayed aside and glowered at him.

It raised both arms, and black ichor seeped out of the corpses, swaying like snakes as they rose towards Darkrai. Its body, which had seemed like a cloud before, now appeared as dark and solid as a dead star.

"Very well," Darkrai said. "Then I will make your death as painless as I can."


	22. Chapters 43-44

Chapter Forty-Three: Suffering

Darkrai flung a hail of tiny dark pellets at Sam. He leapt to the left with the last of the springiness in his legs. Wherever the darkness touched, chunks of the street were sucked into nothingness, leaving behind a surface like a golf ball.

Sam leapt at Darkrai, but he was too slow. Two pellets thudded against his shield with tiny metallic pings, and a third buried itself in his right leg. With a snap, the air itself was sucked out from around him, leaving him breathless for an instant. He swung at Darkrai, but his sword missed by a few inches.

As he fell, his limbs grew at rapid speed. Pink goo gushed out to replace his arm and legs like marshmallow in a microwave. This time, he got the limbs of a greninja, dark blue and slimy frog's legs that leaked viscous drops of water. Bunching his new fingers together, Sam made three spinning blades of water and flung them at Darkrai. One flew wide, but the rest sank into Darkrai, leaving jagged black gouges that sealed themselves up like smoke.

Darkrai flung a larger black sphere at Sam. He pushed a jet of water out of his foot, leapt high into the air, and made a single, longer blade in his left hand. With it, he severed his left leg and right arm, letting them flop to the ground while more greninja limbs grew in their place. Then he launched himself forward. A spray of water washed away streaks of blood on the cracked concrete wall behind him. Wind whistled across his face as he lunged towards Darkrai, sank two blades of water in its chest, and dragged them in a long arc up to its face. The cuts vanished the moment the blades left them.

As Sam soared overhead, Darkrai grabbed his left leg and smacked him on the ground, until all that remained of him was runny pink goo. Darkrai let the slime slip out of his fingers and turned away, facing Brandon, who had crawled under a chunk of masonry.

As it readied another black hole, ice sprouted from the concrete beneath it, encasing the dark specter in a shimmering white prison. Sam, transformed into an ephemeral white specter with luminous yellow and blue eyes, jagged blue horns like glaciers, and a red band holding his waist together, floated out of the concrete like a shivering breath.

Sam glided to the top of the ice encasing Darkrai and showered it with white dust, like the coldest wind-driven snow where the sun shines a few hours out of a year. The air crackled, liquefying near the ice block, as the dust danced across its slick surface. The ice rumbled, shrinking slightly and turning pale blue, with a smoldering black void at its core.

Then, with a shudder, the ice crumbled. Chunks of icy prison hissed and sputtered, like eggs on a frying pan, as they tumbled across the broken ground. A long shadowy arm yanked Sam out of the air and squeezed him tight. No matter how he wriggled, Sam couldn't slip free of Darkrai's grasp, which felt icy cold even to his body.

Darkrai reached out with its other hands. With a shudder, the long, slender fingers became sharp as razors. With a lazy flick, the longest finger sliced clean through Sam's neck. His head tumbled, looking at his own body as he fell. The torso wriggled and melted into pink slime, each drop freezing against the chilled concrete.

Sam landed face up, staring at the dark, cloudy sky, wondering when the faint light of the hidden sun would suddenly go out. He felt completely numb, deprived of all sensation below his smooth, crystalline chin. Looking down, he could see the shiny black edge where his neck ended and the emptiness began.

Darkrai leaned over him, blotting out the light. "Rest in peace," it said, staring at him solemnly with a blank blue eye. "I'll be joining you soon enough, I hope."

Then it turned away. Craning his gaze past his chin, he could see Brandon reaching for another pokeball. He reached for him, and to his amazement, he saw a thin green vine sprout from the ground, growing towards Brandon. Another pushed through the rubble to his left, then another and another. The sounds of shifting rubble told him a forest sprouted up behind him.

Darkrai stopped and stared at a vine. Then he sliced one in half. It collapsed into a pile of pink goo, quivered, and grew again. The forest of vines grew agitated, swaying wildly. Darkrai flung his arm in a wide arc, and every tentacle shriveled up, vanishing into the dirt.

The ground shook. Cracks split the earth, and from them, vines the size of train rails rippled out and wrapped themselves around Darkrai, pinching it into two murky clouds. The vines wriggled out of the ground like worms, crawling end over end towards Sam's head. They wrapped themselves around him, burying him in a writhing green pile. He felt his face melt, squeeze through the holes in the pile, and reassemble itself at the core. Two bulbous, blank eyes grew out, staring at the dark specter.

With a thought, Sam's new tentacles cracked like whips, slapping at the dark clouds as they merged. When dark spikes shot out at him, tentacles from his body pulled him to the safety of a crumbling office floor, halfway up a building split in two. Darkrai followed him up, showering the structure with a flurry of black holes. As the building trembled, Sam sent vines down the concrete pillars, holding the building steady. Glittering pink flowers sprouted from every vine and showered the air with acrid orange pollen. Darkrai floated, unharmed, through the paralytic mist.

"I'm done fooling around," Darkrai said. "Fighting both of you at once would be a pain, so I'll end it right now."

Darkrai pointed at the ground beneath the building. A massive black vortex consumed the lower floors of the building, grinding it into atomic dust and crushing it into oblivion. Inch by inch, the roof sank closer to the void. Sam reached with his thickest vines for the nearest building, but they dropped under the black hole's extreme gravity. He felt himself sink into the concrete, then he fell through it, tumbled past a crumpled plastic desk and scattered pieces of metal, and turned into gelatinous mush as the gravity ripped him apart.

Closing what remained of his eyes, Sam thought only of escape. The air around him rippled, and suddenly, the pressure was gone. Opening his eyes, he saw that he had moved about a quarter mile away from the sinkhole. He tried to move, but his lower half had fused with the street, forming a tar-like pink rock. Pulling himself free, he transformed into a sleek, nimble gallade. He tested the blades of his arms against a window and sliced clean through it without cracking the glass. Then he examined his reflection, which was only blemished by the cracks in the glass, and marveled at his sudden control. With a thought, the flesh rippled and reshaped itself into a squat, slimy politoed.

A sudden, rumbling crash drew his attention back to Darkrai. The specter loomed over Brandon, twirling a black hole in one hand and reaching towards him with the other. Quick as thought, Sam honed his arm to a razor's edge, transformed his legs into the fiery jets of a blaziken, and rocketed through an alley. His arm, a razor sharp sword with an eye on the pommel, darted towards Darkrai's left eye and passed through without resistance. Sam tumbled past, landing in a heap amidst the wreckage of an ice cream parlor.

Darkrai plucked him from the wreckage and held him up in the light like a limp ragdoll. It poked at the dripping pink flesh with a long, clawed finger and watched a thick, gooey strand stretch as it drew the finger back.

"What the hell are you?" he asked.

Between thin, gasping breaths, Sam answered hoarsely, "I don't even know anymore. What the hell are you?"

Darkrai shrugged. "I never knew." Then it cupped its other hand, forming a billowing black hole between its fingers. "Doesn't it hurt, being alive?"

Sam gave a weak chuckle. "I don't feel pain anymore, no matter how much you beat me up."

Darkrai shook its head. "Not that pain. You're nothing more than a tool, a key for the Alpha Ball. And now that it's open, you have nothing left. No hopes. No dreams. No purpose. Nothing. Doesn't that hurt?"

"I don't need someone to give me a purpose." Sam clenched his hand. "I'll make my own."

"And how did that work out for you last time?"

Sam coughed and spat at the specter. "You're the reason it's all ruined."

"I'm the reason you made it this far," Darkrai snapped. "Think about it. Mewtwo orchestrated everything. Everything from the scholarships to the brawling rings, Mewtwo has fingers in every pie. Do you really think anything that happened to you was just chance?" Darkrai drew Sam closer to its pale, blue eyes. Its smile was like a scar across the night sky, empty and lightless. "Every moment of your life was carefully orchestrated to forge the best possible key. Night and day, you were watched and guarded, all without your knowledge. And when you were ready, you were used and discarded like the tool you were."

Sam roared and lunged at those cold, blue eyes with human fingers. Darkrai dug its own fingers into Sam's stomach, pumping its noxious, frigid black ether into Sam's body. He felt strangled from within and about ready to explode, like a balloon blown to the breaking point. His skin blackened and fell off in delicate flakes. Spots swam before Sam's eyes. His throat felt dry as ash, and he strained to breathe out as his chest expanded.

"This time," Darkrai said, "I'll make sure to end your suffering."

Sam's peripheral vision darkened and the blackness crept closer and closer to the center. He squirmed and beat at the air, but he couldn't break free of Darkrai's icy grasp. His field of view dwindled until he saw nothing but those pale blue eyes staring at him without the faintest trace of emotion.

Visions swam before his eyes. First, he saw a cavern lined in metal cables, and countless rows of chairs welded to the walls. He was seated in a chair, with two needles stuck into the back of his hands. Pain shot up his arms, and he felt the icy, bloated pain doubled by the memory.

He blinked. Two figures stood before a sleek wooden desk. One was a short, wiry human with a crooked black nose, a missing tooth, and lots of faint, blotchy scars. The other was a sleek, nimble pokemon with glossy blue and black fur, a twin of the one Darkrai spoke with except for its pale green eyes and the black ring around its right eye.

Sam struggled to keep his eyes open, to keep the last glimmer of light, but he blinked again. This time, he saw the pokemon bent over a pool of water, examining its reflection. Water tumbled down from a huge waterfall, shrouding the scene in mist.

He blinked again. The pokemon's face became a man's, with long, brown hair, a slender nose, a thick square-set jaw, and ragged hunting clothes. Only the pale green eyes and circular dent in his face, ringing his right eye, claimed the pokemon and the human were the same. This time, it seemed as though he were staring up at the face through the surface of a pond, and the human was tumbling down the falls. Blood speckled the surface of the water and left billowing scarlet plumes as the drops descended. The human had a hole in his neck.

Seeing the wound, Sam blinked in surprise. The hole vanished, and the man was no longer falling. Instead, he knelt over a still pool in the middle of a forest clearing.

Another blink replaced the human with a noble yellow pokemon, with a flowing golden mustache, long pointed ears atop its hairless skull, and a gleaming spoon in each hand. Purple aura wreathed it like a crown of fire.

"I'm sorry," he heard it say, "But you are too dangerous. Forgive me sister."

Another blink replaced the scene with a vista of ramshackle wooden huts. Humans and pokemon felled trees, hoisted lumber, and matted straw on rooftops, chatting amiably and sharing food. The yellow pokemon concerted their efforts and lifted the heaviest beams with its psychic powers.

Sam wanted to see more, but his eyes burned. He blinked one eye, hoping to preserve the image, but his head swam, and he involuntarily blinked the other. When his sight returned, the village was just a bare patch of land, and the inhabitants had dwindled to a dozen filthy, fearful pokemon huddled in holes and beneath trees.

His eyes, still burning, blinked in rapid succession. Images flashed before his eyes, too rapid and hazy to see anything but general colors, hues of scarlet and gold one image, a sparkling green crowned with blue on the next. The last image, a shadowy gray with a harsh white light flickering overhead, came with a distant, echoed voice.

"I've finally done it," a man said, his voice gnarled and thin from old age. "Now humanity shall be saved from itself, and it'll all be thanks to you."

"I've finally done it," Darkrai echoed as the last of the light faded. "Now he'll be next."

For a groggy second, Sam thought he meant the old man from the vision, but then he remembered the pact between Darkrai and the white-robed pokemon. Sam gritted his teeth and strained every muscle in his arms, reaching for the icy black hand stuck in his belly, but his fingers were lifeless black lumps, unable to grab anything. They fell in powdery chunks as they brushed against Darkrai's hand.

Icy tendrils crept through his veins, up his neck and towards his brain. His vision went completely dark, but he could see the afterimage of Darkrai's eyes burned into his retinas, flashing and flickering like ghostly blue candles.

Then Darkrai screamed. The hand was wrenched out of his stomach, and in a flash, the cold receded. Sight returned to him all at once, making him blink at the bright, sunlit sky above him. The sun had just risen through a long, open street, and in its light, Sam saw a hole, about six inches wide and lined with glowing blue light. Through that hole, about ten paces from where Sam lay, stood a black figure, radiant amidst the dawn sky, holding a sniper rifle. His crimson hair floated in the wind, like the clouds overhead, and his pale green eyes glittered in the darkness of his face.

Darkrai looked down at the hole in its chest. Then it turned around. Though Sam couldn't see its face, he could hear the menacing smile as it said, "Took you long enough, dad."

Chapter Forty-Four: The Powers Collide

Arkus frowned at the billowing black shade that loomed before him. "You don't have any right to call me that."

The white-robed figure materialized out of an empty alleyway and stepped into the morning light. "Then what about me?"

She pulled the hood from her face, revealing her blue-furred, canine face and piercing red eyes. Though she smiled, Sam could see her hatred, like glittering shards of ice in her gaze.

Arkus peered at her for a minute. Then his eyes slowly widened, and a grin spread across his face. Tears welled up in his eyes and ran down his cheeks in gleaming rivers.

"Ch – Chihiro? Is that you?"

"Yes dad, it's me." Her voice felt like frost on glass.

"Thank god! I thought you would've been damaged like the others. Please tell me your mother's alright as well."

Chihiro flinched, and she scowled for a second, but it was replaced with a sickeningly sweet smile so quickly Sam wasn't even sure he saw the scowl.

"Of course, dad. She's waiting for you."

Arkus walked forward, arms outstretched. Sam glanced back and forth between the tear-filled zoroark and the swirling ball of blue aura Chihiro was hiding behind her back. When her muscles tensed and her arm started forward, Sam leapt forward, turned his body into a huge, gelatinous tentacruel, and snatched up Arkus. The blast caught Sam in the back, searing through his flesh as he was knocked through a crumbling building. A steel beam, warped into a point by the fires, pierced his left side, and a concrete slab drove the point deeper, but Sam wriggled free of the wreckage, dragging Arkus with him.

Arkus shook rubble out of his fur and staggered to his feet. A gash on his forehead trickled blood down his muzzle, leaving a red smear where his tears had been.

"What did you do that for?" he asked, rubbing his temples.

Sam staggered to his feet. Most of his body had changed into a human form, but his back was a gelatinous blue crater where the aura struck him. The dead cells sloughed off his body and landed on the ground with a wet plop.

"You're welcome," he said dryly. When he looked at Arkus, he saw all the overlapping images, the human and the lucario, and a name, older than any other living creature came unbidden to his lips.

"Keith?"

Arkus backed away. "How?" Then he shook his head. "No, I haven't been that for a long time. I'm Arkus."

Blue light flashed in the corner of Sam's eye. He whirled, turned both arms into shields, and took the blow aimed at Arkus. Both arms were ripped from his shoulders, but the sphere of light glanced off the metal and flew off into the sky.

A dark whip struck like a snake out of a shadow, aimed at Sam's throat. Arkus grabbed it with his right arm and crushed it in half. That was when Sam actually saw the right arm, fused with veins of silver along the forearm. A blue diamond point, glowing brightly with aura, jutted from the top of his hand. Arkus grabbed at his right shoulder and fell to his knees, grimacing in pain.

Then the whole sky lit up with blue light. Sam's entire body turned to metal, curving over Arkus. The metal creaked and groaned under the barrage, but it held. Sam thickened it and brought the edges together, forming a sphere. Arkus stepped over the creeping metal as the seams knitted themselves together.

"Run!" Sam shouted. Two human eyes and a lipless mouth stuck out on the inside of the metal.

"Run where?"

"Just run! I can't hold out for long!"

Arkus sprinted forward, rolling Sam's face up and down. Arkus stepped on Sam's eye a few times as they tumbled over potholes and concrete chunks.

"Hey, watch the face!"

"Can't you look outside? We need to know where we're going."

Sam moved his eyes outside, but the view made him nauseous. The world whirled in a gray blur, and he had to blink grit out of his eyes each time his face rolled onto the ground. Glass shards reached for his eyes, but he shifted them aside. Then he caught a glimpse of blue light racing towards them.

"Left!" he shouted. Then he realized he also moved his mouth outside, and Arkus couldn't hear him. He split open, flinging Arkus to one side and himself to the other. The beam of light raced past him, searing away a chunk of metal the size of a car.

When Sam stood up and looked around, they were surrounded. Monks in white robes loomed over them on piles of rubble and the rooftops of cracked buildings. Chihiro, holding a flickering blue lance, blocked one alleyway, while Darkrai guarded the other exit with a spear of darkness.

"I don't understand!" Arkus shouted at Chihiro. "Why are you doing this?"

"Don't play dumb." Her voice was calm, but the anger in it made Sam shiver. "It's all your fault. Everything."

Arkus walked towards Chihiro, his left arm reaching for her. "Please, I don't understand. Please stop."

Chihiro threw her lance, and before Sam could pull Arkus aside, a purple barrier sprung up in the lance's path. It shattered against the barrier, and blue shards hissed against the concrete. Then Sinex Agents, clad in black battle gear marked with the Sinex phoenix, grappled onto the rooftops and piles. They struck at the monks with batons that crackled with Darkrai's power. Some white-robed figures fell, revealing human and canine faces to the sun. The others brought quarterstaffs out of their cloaks and battled the ambushers. The monks were outnumbered ten to one, but the elevated position and superior training gave them the advantage. Agents fell like rain from the ruined buildings, chest and face smashed to pulp with a single swipe.

Then Mewtwo teleported in front of Arkus. He held a gray metal sphere in his hand.

"Take it, it's ready." He shoved the object into Arkus' hand, and he took it out of stunned reflex. "You two take Darkrai. I'll handle the rest."

"But-"

"I'll handle her, just go!"

As Mewtwo ran towards Chihiro, Arkus shouted "Don't hurt her! You hear me?"

Mewtwo looked back, nodded gravely, and lunged at Chihiro. A purple blast flung her back, and she rolled across a cracked street.

Arkus called after her. He peered down the alley, standing on his tiptoes in vain effort to see his daughter. From Darkrai's alley, a swarm of spears darted towards Arkus' chest. Sam sprinted and shoved Arkus aside, taking a spear through the leg. Pink ooze dripped from the wound as it knitted itself together.

"I can't do this alone," Sam said. "I couldn't even scratch him."

Arkus examined the Alpha Ball in his hand. An intricate geometric line was etched in one loop around its surface, with a small, neat circle in the center. The cracks glowed a sullen, dark blue in his right hand.

"With this, we won't need to hurt him," he said, "But we do need to wear him out."

"How?"

"Leave that to me." Arkus tossed the Alpha Ball into his other hand and dashed towards Darkrai. He leapt through a volley of black arrows and flew into Darkrai's chest. His right hand crackled as it passed through Darkrai, and the specter roared in pain.

Sam charged forward, arming his head with tauros horns and beefing up the rest of his body, but he passed through Darkrai like a bullet through a cloud of smoke. Sam skidded to a stop, morphed his body so he stood on two hooved legs, and punched at Darkrai, but the specter held him fast with a hand.

"I can't kill you," it whispered, "But I think they can."

Before Sam could wonder what it meant, Darkrai opened its mouth. Down its throat was the bottomless pit of souls, a flickering blue candle in an infinite chasm of darkness. Sam thrashed madly in Darkrai's grip, but the cold, dark fingers dug into his chest, freezing his muscles. Arkus raced forward, reaching for him, but Darkrai's jaws closed around Sam, and he felt himself falling into the souls.

Sam landed on the bottom with a thud. He felt himself squished flat against the darkness, then he squished himself back into a ball.

He looked up at the dim pinprick of light at the top of the chasm. It looked even further away than last time.

"I got out once, and I can do it again."

Sam started upward, but the other souls appeared above him. They threw him back to the bottom and buried him beneath their noisy, writhing mass. Sam felt as though he were drowning. The lungs he didn't have burned, and flashes of color swam before his nonexistent eyes.

"You betrayed us," the souls hissed. "You promised to help us, and you lied."

"Let me go!" He wriggled, but the souls only pressed harder. He felt thin, drawn out, and immeasurably weary. "Please. Please stop."

Those words were echoed in his mind. It was a feminine voice, one filled with fear. He saw the alakazam again, purple spoons raised in a cross and wreath with flickering purple light.

"It must be done," both the alakazam and the souls said in unison. "Don't make this any harder than it needs to be."

The darkness and the souls disappeared as Sam was drawn into the vision. A forest pool sparkled in the green sunlight that danced through a dense canopy. All around him, pokemon sat on tree stumps and hung from branches.

He heard himself, in the feminine voice, say "I just wanted to be worshipped! I made them all! Why don't they understand that?"

"You treat them like toys," the alakazam said, "Shaping them to suit your fancies. And if they don't do what you ask, you turn them into magikarp or stunfisk and leave them to flop around in the mud. I told you to stop. I warned you this would happen. But you never listened."

Sam looked around. Throngs of angry pokemon glared at them. A few held magikarp in fishbowls or bellsprout in potted plants.

"This can end two ways," the alakazam said. "Change the victims back, and we'll treat you kindly." He leaned forward and whispered, "Please don't make me use the alternative."

"Screw you!" Sam felt himself shout. "You never gave me what I wanted, so why should I?"

The alakazam's eyes narrowed. "What did you want?"

"Praise! Admiration! Respect!"

The alakazam slowly shook his head. "You fool. You already had my respect."

"Shut up! You were the one they praised, not me! The great Ty'mir, builder of cities and leader of all the pokemon." Sam spat at the ground. "You get all the credit, but I'm the one that did all the work."

Ty'mir stepped closer. "I didn't build Palsitore for praise. Now, fix them, or face the consequences."

Sam gave the crowd a contemptuous stare. "Fix them? I see nothing wrong with them."

"Then so be it." Ty'mir lunged forward and dug the point of a spoon into Sam's chest. He looked down, shocked at first to see a tiny pink body with a long, thin tail and slender arms, then horrified when the flesh melted around the spoon. Drops of pink liquid plummeted into the forest spring, clouding its waters.

"Please forgive me, Lorende. It must be done."

When Sam heard that name, his head felt as if it were cracked open and boiling water were poured into his skull. Memory after memory flashed before his eyes, but this time, they sank into his soul. The half-remembered human at the furthest corner of recollection brought a soft, tingling sense of joy, the forest glade sent shivers down his corporeal form, and seeing Ty'mir, a broken husk with sunken cheeks, trembling arms, and glazed eyes, made him regret he had no tears to shed. With each new memory, he felt less himself and more the pokemon whose memories he shared.

"Give in," the souls said. "Arkus must die. It must be done."

"No, not this time," Sam said. "Not again." With new-found strength, he pushed against the souls. The writhing mass bulged upward and then split apart as Sam forced his way up the abyss. Souls chased after him, clawing at him with arms like wisps of flame. Pushed on by the souls below, those nearest the top raced towards him, so fast they'd catch him before he reached the eye.

Feigning a dash upwards, he instead darted towards one of Darkrai's arms. He pressed himself into the opening, forced his way into the hand and fingers, and wrenched Darkrai's arm around. The hand plunged into the specter's chest and wrapped its long, thin fingers around a handful of souls.

With the souls tangled, Sam pulled himself free of the arm and clambered up. The light grew into a flickering star, then dim, hazy sun, and finally, a window.

He got a hold of the edge when a soul grabbed him, weighing him down. He clung desperately to the rim of Darkrai's eye.

"You're not going anywhere," the soul hissed. But as Sam watched, a part of his own soul, a murky, dark blue blob, started peeling away in its grasp. In it were his memories, Sam's memories. He could feel Lorende's temptation to leave it behind, and it nearly overpowered him as he felt himself slipping away, but with the last of his will, he let go of the edge, threw himself at the soul, and felt it let go. With more souls close behind, Sam reached for the opening and pulled himself through.


	23. Chapters 45-46

Chapter Forty-Five: Who Am I?

Darkrai screeched, wrenched his hand out of his stomach, and clutched at his face. A pink lump swelled up in its eye and splashed out like a giant tear.

"The eye!" Darkrai screamed between a toxic mixture of foul-mouthed curses. "Why is it always the eye?"

Before the pink lump hit the ground, it stopped in midair. It unfolded, revealing big, bright blue eyes, tiny limbs, and a long, thin tail. It looked up, right at Arkus, and said, "Phew! Made it out of there."

Darkrai slashed at it with its free hand, but the pink pokemon disappeared, and appeared just as suddenly at Arkus' side. The zoroark flinched away and eyed it warily.

"What – who are you? You're not Sam, are you?"

The pokemon looked up and tried to stroke its chin with its tiny arm, but the stump, an inch too short, flailed uselessly in the air instead. It scowled at the arm and then gave a dejected shrug.

"I… I'm not sure. Maybe?" It stared for a moment at the arm. The flesh rippled, and in a flash, it turned into a human arm, as big as the rest of the pokemon's tiny body. With the new appendage, the pokemon ran its fingers all along its smooth, soft face, stroking the tiny triangular ears on top of its head and gently poking its eyeballs. Then it suddenly asked, "Does the name Lorende mean anything to you?"

Arkus looked down, giving the broken ground a puzzled stare, and then his eyes lit up. "Lorende? What the hell happened to you?"

Darkrai's arm darted out like an arrow. Arkus whirled, and the claws caught a handful of his mane. With a powerful tug, Darkrai yanked the hairs off of Arkus' head. He bit back a yelp as blood sprayed from the torn scalp.

"Come on!" the pokemon shouted, pulling Arkus behind a building. "I have an idea."

Once they were hidden from view, the pink pokemon teleported them both away from Darkrai. When the specter smashed the building to pieces, all it found behind its walls was rubble. It thrashed the other buildings around it in desperate fury, leveling what little remained of Palsitore.

A few blocks away, Arkus and the pokemon crouched behind a dumpster. A hunk of concrete caved in its lid, and garbage spilled out of cracks in its metal walls. The smell of moldy grease made Arkus cover his nose, but the pink pokemon didn't seem to mind.

"You'll have one shot," the pokemon said as it changed shape. It grew taller and bigger, covered in black fur, with red claws and streaks of red in a torn mane. Pale green eyes, one encased in a white ring, stared back at Arkus like a mirror's reflection, only no mirror showed his ring around his right eye. Even the tendrils of silver digging into Arkus' arm were copied.

"Are you sure about this?" Arkus asked.

The shapeshifting pokemon gave him a nervous smile. "Don't worry, I'm a good actor."

Before the zoroark could say anything else, his clone ran down an alley. Arkus started after it, but he stopped himself. Instead, he clambered up the cracks in a building wall and crouched behind a vent. Though the roof was half-gone, caved into the crumbling structure, the vent itself was a bright, shiny box, with the installation instructions still fresh on its back.

Arkus peered across the streets and immediately saw the wreckage left by Darkrai. A smoking crater three blocks wide marked the specter's rampage. As he watched, a slim black figure rushed towards the crater's smoldering heart, claws lashing out. The smoke parted around it and recoiled with a thunderous smack.

The pokemon, startled by the counter, lunged aside and stumbled as the ground shook beneath it. As the body stumbled, so did the mind.

 _Who am I?_ The pokemon shook the question from its head. _I'm Sam. Sam and no one else. I'm going to distract Darkrai and that's all that matters._

Its pale green eyes flicked over to the ruined city around him. Smoke shrouded the city, and rubble lay strewn in heaps as far as his eyes could see. Trees and lamp posts alike were snapped in half or crushed beneath hunks of masonry, pools of water formed around the weakly bubbling remnants of fire hydrants. Strewn across the streets, hanging out of cracked windows, cradling each other, reaching towards the sky or an alleyway, skeletal hands clasped in prayer, were countless heaps of bones, charred black by the blazes, some crushed to powder indistinguishable from dirt and others with stringy bits of sinew holding them together like classroom displays, all of them staring, hollow-eyed, at the cause of it all. Him, her, whatever the hell it was.

It dimly realized that, no matter how this fight turned out, it would never be Sam again. His house was probably smashed along with the rest of the city, his mother one of the skulls staring at him.

No, even before that, he wasn't Sam. He was just Project Omega, dancing on unseen strings, crafted for a single purpose, and denied his dreams at every turn.

The thought weighed him down, slowing his steps and clouding his sight. A sudden whip lashing out from a crack in the street caught him in the arm, drawing a spray of pink goo that the pokemon hastily covered up.

"You're slowing down," Darkrai said with a slow, cynical chuckle. "Where's that friend of yours, the annoying one that keeps torturing my eyeball and never dies. Shouldn't it be on the front lines, not you?"

"I sent it away," the Arkus clone growled. "You're my problem to fix, no one else's."

"Your problem?" Darkrai's glared at it. "I was your solution! You made me to destroy all the humans that were hurting you. And how did you repay me?"

The pokemon struggled to recall what it saw of Darkrai's memories and said, "You were an accident, and you were too dangerous to keep around. I'm sorry."

"You're sorry!" Darkrai roared. "You brought me into an existence painful beyond even my imagination, with thousands of voices constantly shouting in my head, and then you break me into millions of tiny pieces and slowly gather me up to do it all over again." The specter doubled over, covering its eye with one hand. "You know what the worst part is? I was actually happy for a little while. At first, when I came back, it was just me and that kid, Sam. That was when I realized that life wasn't endless suffering, and that I was the only one who had to suffer all the voices. And just when I was starting to think that everything would be alright, the voices came back."

Tears black as the emptiness between stars spilled out from between Darkrai's fingers. It chuckled softly. "You know, I don't care about killing you anymore. I just want you to end it." Darkrai stood up, opened its arms, and puffed out its chest. "Go on, do it! Put an end to all my suffering! It's the least you could do."

Sam hesitated, staring at the outstretched arms. Inch by inch, he crept forward, arms poised to strike. He licked his lips, momentarily forgetting his own inner turmoil as he prepared to rip apart the specter that had haunted him for weeks.

A purple light shimmered before his eyes. Then, in a rush, he saw five scenarios play out in tandem. Him, lunging into the specter and getting impaled by hundreds of spikes, him dodging only to get decapitated with a slice of its claws, him running to the side and getting tripped by black fog, him leaping on top of a building, only to get sucked into a black hole waiting for him, and the future he chose out of instinct.

Sam flung out his own arms. "No, Darkrai. It would bring you peace, but that wouldn't be fair." The words came to his tongue like a play's script, and his body moved as if he were on the stage again. "I made you, and I am responsible for you. I won't let you die, when I can bring you happiness." He tapped a knuckle on his chest. "Kill me. That should keep all those voices quiet.

Darkrai floated forward an inch and stopped. Its hand darted back, as if it touched a bed of coals. "You lie!" it shouted with a trembling voice. "You're… just trying to trick me! Liar!"

"Have I ever lied to you?" Sam grinned even harder and stepped forward. Darkrai flinched back, and then drew cautiously forward.

"Why?"

The question echoed in Sam's head. Every nerve in his body screamed at him to run or fight, but the vision of the future he saw gripped him like train wheels on a track. No matter how much he leaned against his bonds, he kept driving towards the end he saw. Doubt and fear gripped him, and his head felt as though hot pokers were shoved through his eye sockets.

"Because killing you won't fix my mistake." Sam reached out and put a hand on the specter, about where he imagined a shoulder would be. His hand burned where it touched the rippling dark fog, but he didn't even flinch. He screamed at himself to run, but another voice, a feminine voice that at once calmed him and raised his hackles, told him to trust the vision, her vision, his vision, their vision.

"It would put an end to your suffering, but it wouldn't change the fact that you've done nothing but suffer." Sam shouted at the voice to be quiet, but it insisted, firmly and sweetly, that he needed to listen.

"Instead, I'll give you the life you deserve to have, even if it means my own death." I'm going to die, he screamed at the voice. The more he struggled, the stronger the inferno raged in his temples. Lights flashed before his eyes, blotting out the darkness before him.

"So, go ahead. I've lived long enough." The voice told him there was no running from who he is, who they are. He insisted that she was just a voice in his head, like all the others, but even as he thought it, he knew it wasn't true. The feminine voice wasn't separate from his own, it was the other side of the coin, a second sound from the same mouth. He knew everything she would say before she said it, and even as he spoke, the debate raged ten points ahead, into the future, circling around until he was forced to admit the truth.

Darkrai drew its hand back. Its face twitched and swayed from glee to confusion, anger to grief, in a flickering maelstrom that made its eyes blur. At the same time, Sam felt his own rage boiling over, at being forced on this track chosen for him, at being pushed around by a voice in his head. Though he knew it was the best future, calculated to preserve the greatest number of humans and pokemon alike, and one crafted to preserve his own life, he rebelled against it. He heaved against the tracks, forcing his arms towards his chest inch by halting inch. Darkrai stopped, confused at the sudden strain on Sam's face.

Then, with a wrenching effort, Sam pulled free. He channeled all his rage into making himself huge, tall enough to topple buildings. Metal grew out of his back and arms, forming a sleek gray shell. Horns sprouted from his head, sharpened to points, and his stomach turned to marble. As an aggron, Sam towered even the largest of their species, with arms thicker than tree trunks. He raised them both over his head and brought them down on Darkrai. The specter, stunned by the sudden transformation, took the full blow. It vanished in a shower of rubble, leaving behind a crater deep enough to expose the rusty iron guts of the city.

The feminine voice screamed at him, cursing him for dooming them both and everyone else in the bargain. But even with the knowledge that all hope was lost, Sam finally felt the earth beneath his feet again. He felt himself, and in control. All the pain was gone, and in its place was a rush of euphoria that made him wobble on his feet. With a laugh that sounded like boulders grating against each other, he stomped into the crater and thrashed the edges to pieces. Putrid brown water bubbled out of cracked pipes, and wires hissed sparks like startled snakes.

A vision, half instinct and half the guidance of the other voice, told him Darkrai floated behind him, claws set to strike. He took a deep breath, felt a warm, gurgling sensation bubble in his gut, whirled, and roared. A column of blinding white light shot out of his mouth, giving off waves of heat like an oven, surged forward. It thundered with the peal of a thousand lightning strikes in chorus. The air shimmered and shook around it, making the city look like a smoke cloud.

Darkrai didn't have time to dodge or sublime into gas. The beam struck it full force in the chest, hurling it across the street. Exhaustion struck him as the beam faded. Shaking, Sam assumed a human form and fell to his knees. He crawled his way up the crater, wrinkling his nose at the reek coming from the ruptured pipes. As his eyes crested the crater, he saw the real Arkus, running towards Darkrai with the Alpha Ball in his left hand. It glowed with aura blinding even from this distance, but even though he couldn't see what was happening, he knew what will happen.

Arkus will stop, brace both arms, and double over as one of Darkrai's tendrils slamsinto his chest. He will topple backwards and drop the Alpha Ball. Its light will be snuffed out, and the city will be drowned in darkness.

"You've doomed us all," the feminine voice said through his own lips.

"No," he said back. "I refuse to take the path given to me any longer." He reached deep within himself, deep within the body he hardly understood, uncoiling strands of DNA locked away since the creation of pokemon. A shiver ran through his body as every cell tensed up, took in the new genetic instructions, and busied itself with creating dizzying chains of protein. Sam watched, half with fascination and half with horror, as his body stretched itself out like a snake, muscles bulging beneath tough, supple green skin. Lighter than air, the serpentine body floated off the ground and rippled in the wind like a banner.

"I will make my own future," Sam growled as he sped towards Darkrai like an arrow.

Chapter Forty-Six: The Paths We Must Choose

One moment, Arkus stared up at Darkrai, groaning in pain from the blow to his stomach and watching as the specter wrapped a long, thin arm around the gleaming Alpha Ball, snuffing out its blue light with a squeeze. A blink of his eyes later, a green blur raced before his eyes, so quickly he thought he imagined it, until his eyes whipped around to follow the sudden motion.

So long that, coiled in midair like a furled-up flag, the green serpent towered over the piles of rubble. Below it, Darkrai struggled to heave itself out of a window. It lashed out with a black whip, slicing the serpent in half, but the two pieces turned into pink goo. Before it hit the ground, the goo merged, rippled, and turned deep crimson in color with black lines splitting its surface. The ball unraveled into a blocky behemoth, helmed with spiny red ridges, bearing two huge hands tipped with diamond claws, and thumping a tail like a slab of marble against the ground. Heat poured off of its skin in wisps of steam, and the air around it shimmered, making everything behind it, including Darkrai, appear as ephemeral and fragile as a dream.

With a swipe, far faster than the creature's bulk suggested, the glittering claws sheared through metal, glass, and black fog with equal ease. Darkrai parted, splitting into five sinuous ribbons of smoke as it wriggled into the shadow of an alleyway. The behemoth battered through the rest of the building, stamped into the alleyway, and lit it up with a burst of fire from its craggy jaws.

Arkus stared, open mouthed, as the creature transitioned from one fantastical form to another, flaying Darkrai with a tangle of vines as a tiny green fairy, then slicing through space itself, creating a jagged black wound in the air above a cracked fountain, as a stocky white dragon with pink pearls glowing from its shoulders.

Then the Alpha Ball caught his eye. Sitting in a pothole rimmed with cracks and large enough to swallow a shopping cart, the Alpha Ball caught the faint morning light and threw it back in a dozen different hues. Its surface had an uneven, weatherworn appearance, as if a hundred years worth of waves had washed over it and tossed it in the sand. Arkus staggered towards it, picked it up, and stared back at the fight shaking the city to its foundations. Buildings toppled as white beams crackled against thick walls of shadow.

Arkus walked towards it, but a sudden quake sent him to his knees. Pain jolted up his left arm as he stopped his fall. His hand shot up out of reflex, and he lost his balance, rolling into the pothole and landing hard on his right shoulder. A splinter of rebar pricked his shoulder, drawing a fat drop of blood.

He looked for the Alpha Ball, but he couldn't see it. In a panic, he flailed his left arm, ignoring the painful shocks shooting up his neck, and bumped against the metal sphere with his fingertips. Clawing for it, his fingers slipped and slid off the smooth surface until his claws found purchase in the thin grooves. He rolled it closer to his chest, wrapped his whole hand around it, and breathed a sigh of relief when the blue light flared back to life like an oil-soaked torch.

Pushing up with his good arm, Arkus staggered to his feet and clambered out of the pothole. Four blocks down the street, beyond a vista wracked by bolts of lightning, fields of icy daggers, and a smoldering meteorite, a red wyvern with a rippling gray mane and talons like steel tore at Darkrai. Then a black hole opened up the creature's chest, and it flew apart into a fine pink mist. The mist rippled, congealed into a blob, and transformed into a bird with wings of fire.

Arkus felt his jaw drop. He looked down at his own hands, transformed only through incredible hardship, and wondered how Sam could change so readily.

"No, not Sam," he muttered. "Lorende. But how?"

Arkus thought through everything Mewtwo told him during the ten minutes they hastily pieced the Alpha Ball back together. The original sample, bearing a remnant of Darkrai's power, came from a sample of living tissue excavated from the Delta incident. With a shudder, he remembered all the cables, and the drills digging into his hands, feeding on the power within his bones, then the searing heat burning him from the inside as he drank the foul black blood of Ath and fed the darkness to the humans.

A seed of an idea took shape in his mind, one that grew as its roots entangled stray memories and shaped them into a cohesive narrative. Lorende, guised as a human, strapped to the same machine as row after countless row of humans, died, ripped apart by the grappling, incompatible powers that slew everyone else. No, not simply dead, but blown apart, reduced to a bloody smear on the walls and ankle-deep puddles on the floor, all burned and congealed into sticky black paste. No bones, no heads, not even clothes remained to mark the dead. Dead, destroyed, because of him.

Arkus' head spun, and vomit crept up his throat. Choking it back, he flung himself up and tottered forward. The light of a thousand sunrises blinded him as Sam transformed into a golden phoenix, with wings of amber and gold. White flame danced like leaves from the tips of his feathers, fluttering into Darkrai's chest and illuminating the phantom from within. But the darkness ate up the light and glared into the sunshine. A giant fist rose from the ground, snatched the whole bird in its grasp, and squeezed.

Arkus ran forward and plunged his left hand into the pulsing, dark wrist. He bit back a scream as his own power mixed with the aura locked in the blue diamond, releasing a horrid miasma that dissolved everything around it. The darkness shrank away from it, and the whole hand crumbled, dropping a smooth, lumpy hunk of metal.

The metal stretched out arms and legs and stood, turning its torso from side to side until its seven eyes locked on the specter. With a roar like steel mills grinding against each other, it balled up a fist, which crackled with electricity, and flung it at Darkrai's head. The fist passed through, but the lightning shot through Darkrai like a salt bath. Sparks hissed on the ground as Darkrai collapsed and shied away, clinging to cracks and potholes.

The metal behemoth hunched over, turning brown and craggy as it transformed into a stout bull with massive brown horns, cloven hooves that could smash through boulders, and eyes orange like fall leaves. With a single stamp, the ground rippled. Cracks fused together, and holes swallowed up the rubble before slamming shut. In a two block stretch, the earth was ground was perfectly flat rock. The only three shadows were Sam's, Arkus', and the black puddle that boiled, baked in the heat of the sun. Steam hissed upwards, coalescing into Darkrai's haunting form. His blue eyes, the color of dying stars, gazed at Sam with fear and sadness.

"Why?" the phantom screamed. "Why don't you understand? I have to kill him!"

"Because the voices in your head tell you to?" Sam growled. He stamped a hoof, and a tremor shook the ground. Five blocks back, a cracked building slumped over, leaning against a structure with its roof sliced off.

"Yes!" Tears black as charcoal dripped out of Darkrai's eyes. "They won't stop screaming! I can't shut them up!"

"You think you aren't the only one? I had voices in my head, telling me what to do, making my life hell if I didn't do what they asked. You were one of them, remember?" Sam glared, but his eyes were unfocused. "And now I have another one, one with more control than you ever did."

"Then what? What should I do?"

"Fight back!" Sam roared. "Shut those voices out and do whatever the hell you want to do."

"But what if I want to kill Arkus too?" Darkrai's voice quavered, and its gaze darted away from Sam's burning orange eyes.

"I know you don't," Sam rumbled. "I know what you really want, what those voices won't let you do."

"Then just do it already," Darkrai whispered. It sounded as mournful as a winter wind plucking the last brown, cracked leaf from a spindly tree. "Just end it."

Arkus swallowed hard as he saw the pitifully hopeful look in the specter's eyes. He staggered closer, but he tripped over his own feet. The Alpha Ball left a dent on the perfectly smooth ground when he used it to stop his fall.

"I can't beat you," Sam said, "not while you're listening to them."

"You're asking me to just give up?" There was heat in the specter's voice, but a hollow heat, like a digital bonfire, all image and no substance.

"No. I'm asking you to stop giving up. Give all those voices the middle finger and go to death with open arms."

Darkrai grimaced and trembled. Inch by inch, its arms spread outward, and an uneasy smile split its face as tears ran like rivers down its spectral form.

"I'm ready," it said weakly.

"Good," Sam said. His flesh bubbled and turned whiter than wind-driven snow. A spiked yellow ring jutted out from his chest, his horns shrunk and pointed upward, and his head trailed off in a long mane like a pennant. Eyes the color of emeralds stared blankly down at Darkrai as seventeen plates, all in different hues, sprouted from the ground in a circle around the specter.

"Prepare to be judged," Sam said. His words echoed as if each molecule in the air hummed with his sonorous voice. The plates glowed, each its own color, and the lights drifted upward, about a hundred feet in the air, mixing together until they formed a radiant white light.

Suddenly, strength surged into Arkus' legs like boiling water. He sprinted forwards and flung himself in front of Darkrai, arms outstretched.

"No! No more!"

Sam frowned at him, and his eyes looked sharp as rose thorns. "Move. It has to be done."

"It has to stop! How many have to die because of my mistakes? How many?" Arkus flung two of the plates aside. Their light went out, and the mass above flickered.

"Many more if you do not move. There is no time to argue!"

"There has to be another way! I made him, I can help him somehow!"

"There is no other way!" Sam's voice rumbled like thunder. "Darkrai took everything I had. My home. My dreams. My identity. It must pay, before anyone else suffers."

"I won't let you!"

Darkrai's scream pierced the argument. It raised both hands to its eyes as blue flames engulfed them from within.

"Oh god, they're coming out!" Darkrai wailed. "They're all coming out!"

Sam's lily white face turned ashen gray with fright, and his mouth tightened into a snarl. "Move, or I'll kill you with him."

Arkus was rooted to the spot. Horror gripped him as he felt the aura rising like magma in the specter, bubbling and burning with malice. Then, with an earsplitting scream, Darkrai's eye exploded.

The light of judgment slammed down like a gavel, but the aura rushing out of Darkrai broke it into a million glittering shards. A great cloud poured out, swirling and crackling with blue light. Eyes peered out of the maelstrom, and countless voices called for death, Arkus', Sam's, everyone.

Arkus felt his chest and skull tighten from the sudden pressure of the aura. Out of reflex, he flung up a barrier surrounding the maelstrom, but cracks shot across it the moment aura touched it. Pieces bulged out like bits of eggshell, but for the moment, it held.

"Guess I couldn't change the future after all," Sam said. Arkus glanced at him. He was back in human form, and he had a wide, sad grin on his face. "Well, I guess this is the end. Thank god."


	24. Chapter 47

Chapter Forty-Seven: I Am Me

Sam calmly regarded the swirling vortex of violent, blood-thirsty aura contained within the flimsy, cracking black barrier of Arkus' will. Manic cackles and death threats echoed as the swirling mass stared out with countless crazed eyes. "Hey, hold that for a minute, will you? I got something I need to take care of first."

Arkus grunted something as Sam walked away, towards a heap of rubble in the middle of the street. He heaved a huge girder aside, clawed out a few handfuls of ground concrete, and shifted dust until he found a gray hand. Pulling, he wrenched the whole body free and set him on a concrete slab clinging to the side of the pile.

Brandon, hair ruffled and dusty, his glasses smashed on his face, and blood dripping like tears from all the cuts on his face, gave him a dazed, hazy-eyed stare.

"Sam?" he breathed. "Is that you?"

Sam took Brandon's hand and brushed some of the dust away. "I'm here."

"I – it was that thing, wasn't it?" Brandon's grip tightened. "That thing made you do… what you did, wasn't it?"

"You're right," Sam said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "I – I'm sorry about Marianne. But don't worry, Brandon. You'll see her again, very soon."

"Really?" Brandon's eyes widened, and tears spilled onto his cheeks, running dull red as they picked up dust and dried blood. "Everything's going to be okay, isn't it? That – that pokemon will make everything better, won't it? The one that beat the ghost haunting you?"

"Yes. It's going to make everything better."

"Hey!" Arkus shouted over the roar of the aura. "If you're going to do something, could you hurry it up? I can't hold this forever!"

"Oh shut up," Sam called back. "You already ruined one of my moments, don't ruin another." Then he turned back to Brandon and whispered, "I have to go now, but I'll be back, alright?"

"Back," Brandon wheezed. "Yeah, back, like old times. You… me, Emily… Marianne, dad, everyone. It's all… all okay. Just a dream."

Sam walked up to Arkus and looked into the aura. The zoroark glanced at him out of the corner of his eye and grunted, "This is extremely painful."

"Just deal with it for a while longer. We have to talk first."

Arkus frowned at him. "Who's doing the talking? Sam, or…"

"We're one in the same, kind of. But that's not important now."

"But-"

"There's only two paths that lead from this point," Sam said, cutting Arkus off. "On the first, this aura is unleashed on the world, and it rips every living creature to atoms, down to the bacteria and viruses, and just for the fun of it, it'd split the planet open and spill its guts all over the universe."

Arkus grimaced and tightened his hold on the walls. "And the second?"

"I die," Sam said with a straight face. "After that, I don't know. Nearly infinite futures branch out." Sam shrugged. "Most of them suck."

"Lovely," Arkus muttered.

"Whatever future we get, though, is up to you. There'll be so much leftover power that you could change the whole planet. Use it."

"What do I do with it?"

"We're out of time." Sam walked towards the shield, and then through it. The thin, flickering barrier slipped around him like slime. Then Sam was lost in the swirling blue light. Over the din of voices and the howling of the wind, Sam shouted, "Come get me you motherfuckers! I'm right here!"

The aura glowed as bright as a star, and then the light seeped like water into Sam. His skin crackled with blue sparks, and the beating of his heart was backlit by the aura.

Arkus let down his barrier. Nothing happened. Then he stepped closer to Sam and saw that his feet had turned to pale blue crystal, smooth as glass and matching the contour of his clothes. As he watched, a thin sheet of crystal grew out from Sam's soles, forming a circle fifty feet wide around him. The crystal chinked and creaked as it expanded. Arkus clumsily stepped back, tripped, and fell forward onto the crystal. It felt warm to the touch and pulsed in time with Sam's heart.

"Going up," Sam said. His smile was half a grimace, and tears glistened in his eyes. The sheet of crystal lurched and started rising. Arkus peered off the edge and saw that more crystal, inch by inch, grew beneath him. Wind rushed through his fur as the platform sped upward, past the tallest building still standing, into the thin, wispy cirrus clouds, and then beyond, so high he could see the gentle curve of the world. In the twilight towards the west, another city shone like a swarm of fireflies crammed into a jar.

He looked back at Sam. The crystal had crept up past his hips, forcing him to turn his neck to see the landscape.

"Huh. You'd think we'd run out of oxygen, this high up, not that I get to breathe it much. Damn crystal's getting higher."

Arkus took a deep breath. The air felt neither cold nor warm, not a breeze stirred it, and it tasted just as fresh and thick as a dew-filled forest.

"I think I can see Yvenna from here." Sam chuckled. "Out there, to the west. The university's that cluster of dots off to the right. The big one's their clock tower."

"What now?" Arkus asked.

"I don't know if I should tell you anything. My words could have catastrophic consequences that I cannot foresee." He paused for a moment. He looked as if he wanted to put his hand up to his chin, but his shoulders stiffened under a fine glaze of crystal. He glared angrily at it and said, "I suppose it doesn't matter. My advice is to pursue your dream with everything you got." His eyes glistened, but no tears fell. "Mine's dead. Brandon's dead, my mom's dead, everyone in Palsitore is dead no matter what we do, even if you tried to save them. That much I know." His words caught in his throat as it turned to crystal. "Your dream," he croaked. "Follow it at all costs. You're dead without-"

His last sentence was cut close as his lips turned blue. His eyes bored holes into Arkus as the crystal crept up his cheeks, over his nose, and covered his eyes.

Silence fell. Arkus looked around at the world far below him as sunlight crept westward. The twinkling lights on the horizon faded as the sun touched them.

Then the silence broke. Crystal groaned as Sam's arms rose. In cupped hands, a pool of glowing blue liquid splashed up, flinging droplets onto Sam's smooth face. Arkus ran up to Sam and stopped short, staring at the liquid. A drop leapt up and landed on his cheek. The flesh beneath burned as if a hot iron was rammed through his skull.

Taking a deep breath, Arkus plunged his hands into the pool. Liquid fire shot up his arms, filling him, burning him from the inside. Each breath felt like lit gasoline rushing into his lungs. His heart sat in a frying pan, and with each beat, it was flipped and pressed into flaming oil. Every fiber of flesh burned and itched.

 _Make your wish_. The low, sonorous voice shook his bones and cooked his marrow. It vaguely sounded like Sam, but rich and resonant.

"I – what?" Arkus gasped.

 _Make your wish._

The pain faded away. He could still feel himself burning, but it stopped short of his conscious thought. His body felt it, his brain felt it, but his soul was aloof and adrift, observing from some hidden part of himself untouched by the fire.

 _Make your wish._

"My wish," Arkus whispered. His mind sped through two thousand years of his life, from hunting for his village to leading the greatest pokemon civilization ever created. And through it all, he knew what he wanted, ever since he found paradise on the other side of the river, to share that paradise with the world.

 _Make you wish._

He knew what the humans did. He felt the sickly taint strangling the minds of every pokemon in the world, flickers of Darkrai's energy blasted across the world using himself as a battery. The thought of it made bile, as hot and corrosive as boiling acid, bubble up his throat.

 _Make your wish._

But, undoing all that would only rewind the clock. War would start again, and this time, it wouldn't end without bloodshed. He didn't need Sam's clairvoyance to see that was no future he wanted.

 _Make your wish._

The voice was more urgent this time. A snap made Arkus look down. Crystal crept up his feet. As he watched, it swallowed up his ankles and kept climbing. He didn't know how to fix the world, and he didn't have much time to figure it out.

 _Make your wish._

Maybe he could turn all pokemon into humans, or vice versa. But then, that's what Lorende tried to do, change people against their will. His mind raced through other ideas, from separating them forever to giving them endless resources to enjoy, but none of them would bring lasting peace.

 _Make your wish!_

Arkus tried to step back, but his feet held him fast to the ground. Crystal had crawled halfway up his shins. The voice's tone told him he was out of time. He didn't have any answers. But maybe, maybe someone else would find them. Couldn't he wish for that?

"Hear my wish!" he shouted at the disembodied voice. "I wish for a protector to watch over this world and everyone in it, pokemon and humans.

 _Then make it so._

His head felt empty, though still afire, as the voice left. Arkus fumbled for the power, felt it swell up in him like a tide of molten wax, and hesitated. What the heck would he make, and how?

His mind drifted back to the giant, white pokemon with eyes of emerald. With his arms outstretched, he felt power sparking in his hands. It leapt out to the crystal statue of Sam. Cracks split his face, and with a resounding chink, a jagged chunk from atop his head the size of two fists popped free and clattered against the ground. Light poured out of it, molding itself into the slender, radiant body he remembered.

The pokemon blinked, saw him, and knelt, pressing its head against the ground. "Creator," it said with a voice that echoed like cavern walls. "I am yours to command."

Arkus looked down. His knees were half-coated. For a moment, he was at a loss for words, but then he remembered why he made this thing.

"Watch over them," he said. His tongue clung to his roof, and sweat beaded his brow. "Keep them safe." Then, with an afterthought, he said, "Keep yourselves hidden. No good can come from humans knowing about you."

"I obey." Then it rose its head and asked, "What is my name?"

For a second, Arkus thought it asked for his name. He started to answer, but realizing his mistake, he tripped over his own tongue and said, "Arceus."

"Arceus," it said slowly. "Like your own. Thank you, Creator."

Before he had time to wonder how it knew his name, more power welled up in him. His arms tingled as more aura shot into the statue and broke off another piece. That jagged fragment turned into a long, green serpent that glided through the air. Before he could speak, more sparks leapt forward, one after another, smashing the statue to pieces. Blue and red behemoths rose together, followed by smaller twin dragons of the same color. Three birds, of fire, ice, and thunder, flew into the air, three dogs of similar appearance bounded off, a serpent of shadow, a stocky dragon with pink pearls in its shoulders and a brother with a black diamond jutting from his chest, golems of stone, ice, and steel, with a fourth of marble that towered over them. More poured out of the fragments, but Arkus' vision darkened. Crystal rushed up his chest, strangling him, then it clamped his throat shut. Eyes darting around, he struggled to move, but his arms remained outstretched in front of him, as if he were pushing a heavy burden.

Before the crystal sealed his ears, he heard Arceus say, "Rest well, Creator. We will take care of the world for you."

Chihiro licked her lips anxiously as she felt a vast wall of aura pushing against her. That strong of a power would kill even her if she remained too long.

Her own vassals lay dead among the ruins, and though they made the Sinex agents pay dearly for their lives, she faced Mewtwo and four agents alone. Two charged at her, holding out batons that crackled with black energy, and she whirled around both, slicing one through the ribs as she went. He fell with a gurgle as blood gushed out his mouth.

Then, for a fraction of a second, Mewtwo turned his head towards the towering blue pillar that grew out of the ground. Fast as lightning, Chihiro raced forward, coating her hand in aura, and impaling Mewtwo on her arm.

Chihiro looked up at the pillar, muttered "You're next," and used her aura to open a rift. But before she could wrench her arm free, Mewtwo's grip tightened around her elbow. The world around her shifted, and then, she was a thousand miles away, on top of a lonely mountain peak dotted with dying pine trees. A cold, harsh wind whipped through her fur, and snow crunched beneath her feet.

With a final shudder, Mewtwo went slack and slid off of her arm. The snow turned red beneath his crumpled body. She kicked the corpse aside, and it tumbled to a stop at the trunk of a pine tree split in two by the cold.

Chihiro looked towards the glimmering blue speck on the horizon, so bright and blue it made the clear mountain sky look murky and pale.

"It's not over," she said, turning away from the crystal pillar and trudging down in the snow. "It won't be over until I kill you."

To be continued in Part Two of the Sinex Redemption Saga:

SoulSwitch

* * *

For those of you that have stuck around this long, thanks for reading! It's 8/19/18, roughly two years since I actually finished this story, and I finally got around to posting it all. Figured I should stop procrastinating on it. So, I say I have a sequel planned for it... but there's no sequel. I am tentatively still planning to write it. I've hit a brick wall both times I tried it, and there's other stories I'd much rather work on at the moment. In the meantime, go read those. I'm sure they're better than this stuff. Ugh... two years really makes you see the flaws in your writing. So, thanks for reading!


End file.
